Rebuild, Remake
by ThisHermes
Summary: If Rome couldn't be built in a day, then certainly neither can Hogwarts.
1. We Are Not So Lucky

**Chapter One: We are not so lucky**

**I have done the greatest thing in the world, I created Harry Potter!**

**What's that? Oh. Apparently, I'm not a goddess.**

**Sorry JK Rowling. I guess you're alone in this one.**

_You would think that with magic, things would be easier- that we wouldn't have to work so hard to rebuild. Maybe that was the fantasy I had built in my head; after the War was over, things would just be normal. That the castle would just repair itself, and within a week we would be back to classes as usual, Ron, Harry, and I arriving late to Transfiguration and eating dinner in the Great Hall together while our classmates chatted about the Christmas holiday._

_We are not so lucky. Not by a long shot._

_Hogwarts is being rebuilt piece by piece. The magic and concentration that it requires is outstanding to even rebuild a single wall- and we have thousands to rebuild. Not to mention classrooms to fill with supplies, magical wards to replace, almost irrevocable damage from killing curses to repair, and hundreds to care for. __Minerva __Professor McGonagall has opened the school to the orphans of the War. It's an admirable idea, but the reality is staggering. The first few orphans came on the train in the weeks immediately following the battle. There were not many to take care of, and they were manageable. By the time word fully spread and the more cautious deemed it safe to send them however; we received train after train after train of orphaned children, begging for a home. We don't have the heart to send any of them away, so for the time being we live like refugees in tents and whatever bedrooms we can find. The sound of crying has become so common to me that I almost ignore it entirely when I hear it._

_Luckily we have George to keep most of them entertained, and the oldest of the orphans help take care of the little ones. But at the end of the day, he looks thin and pale and drained, and I can't help but wonder if this isn't too difficult for him. He's never had to try to make anyone laugh without Fred at his side, and he still hasn't taken a free moment to himself to really grieve for him. In my memory, I don't think I can actually picture one without the other. Then again, I said that about his ear too when he lost that. I think it's something I'll get used to. I'm just not sure he ever will. Sometimes I think I hear him crying in the tent next to me at night, but it could just be one of the children. It's too heart breaking to think about him crying alone in his tent at night for me to really ask him about it. I'd rather live with that denial for a bit longer._

_It's hard to say that things are rough in the tent town, when we are still so fortunate. The older women think I don't notice that they load our baskets up higher than the others, but Ron never seems to mind. It's because we're part of the 'Golden Trio'. I think the name is tacky, but it seems to have stuck with everyone else. I hate saying it, but they take special care of us, just because of who we are. If I try to refuse food, I get scolded and turned away, so I mostly give it to the kids, and eat only what I absolutely need. If Harry were here, he would tell me to eat more, but the ache of him and Ginny being gone gnaws at my stomach until I think I can't breathe anymore. Eating seems like the last thing on my mind. I never imagined I'd be so dependant on them, but they make things seem calmer when they're here, and it's a little easier to forget how many people are dead when I have Ginny's fiery wit to keep me on my toes and Harry's brooding calm to keep me stable. Now that it's just Ron and I, we're fraying at the seams bit by bit._

_When Harry announced he was leaving for a while, we were all prepared for another adventure in the middle of nowhere in a tent. Ron and I had even begun packing, but he made it clear at that point that he was going alone. We didn't ask many questions when he said he wanted to find the Dursleys. I guess in light of all the horror they've put him through, they're still some form of family to him, and in this day and age, when there's so much destruction and so many lives ruined, you cling to whatever family you've got. Ginny threw a riot and demanded to be taken with him, and after days of arguing, he finally consented. They left 3 weeks ago. We haven't heard a word from them since. After the first week, it was expected, during the second week, we got concerned. This week, Molly and Arthur appeared here at Hogwarts to help the renovation process. We can tell they're worried._

_Arthur's been particularly helpful in reconstructing the Great Hall. It's our first big project, and he's pulled out muggle blueprints to help speed the process along. If we can finish the Great Hall, it'll give us a real sense of foundation, and a place for all these children to get out of the cold in the upcoming winter months. Molly does what Molly's always done- she cooks for more children than she has resources for and takes care of the little ones. Watching her walk around with the Weasley children was always like watching a mother hen and her chicks. Well now Molly has an entire farm full of chicks, and she seems happy. But she has moments where she's far away and foggy, as if she doesn't know where she is and I can just see her start to form Fred's name on her lips, when she'll stop, smile, and continue on as if nothing's wrong. I don't know how long it'll be until her and Arthur abandon ship and go searching after Ginny and Harry themselves. I'm tempted to join them._

_Percy is the only one who seems at home in chaos. I guess it comes from all that time at the Ministry, but he has a way of looking all this ugliness in the face and not making it seem so bad. It's really a change from the Head Boy that I used to study with, and it's noticeable to his entire family. I guess half of it is guilt at watching Fred die, but I haven't had a chance to really have any kind of conversation with him since we got the last large group of orphans in. We all stay in tents next to each other, but we're more like strangers in the suburbs. We all wake too early in the morning to be sociable and are too exhausted at the end of the night to really have a decent conversation. We pass our group meals in silence after the children have been put to bed and collapse into our beds at night too tired to think._

_I haven't had any luck contacting my parents yet. I'll get to it when I have time._

Hermione drew a thin line at the end of her last page and tucked the small leather book underneath her pillow with her wand. She didn't feel the need to sign off or give any formal sort of goodbye to the journal- after all, she wasn't 12 anymore. This journal was specifically so that years from now when someone boastfully stated 'I could build Rome in a day', she could hex them to a chair and force them to read it, bit by painful bit. She gnawed on her lip thoughtfully for a moment, and cast a vanishing spell on the book so she would be the only one to find it. She didn't want one of the children coming in, reading it, and thinking they were a burden.

Tousling her own bushy brown hair, she sighed, and pulled on a thin t-shirt and a pair of comfortable blue jeans for the day's activities, and pushed back the flap to her tent, staring at the sky. The sun had just barely peaked over the horizon, but she knew full on daylight wouldn't be far behind. She tucked her wand into her back pocket, grabbing the basket at her tent flap that was patiently waiting there. Trudging in her bare feet to the tent directly across from hers, she let herself in without any form of announcement and smiled tenderly. A burly redhead was still fast asleep on a cot, and she sat on the bed next to him, placing the basket on the floor.

"Ron, we have things to do." She shoved his shoulder as sweetly as she could manage, and then tucked her chin onto his shoulder so her mouth was next to his ear. "Please wake up. It's morning."

"FFrfdga reaaefd kurrrnm." He announced into his pillow, harrumphing angrily and rolling away from her.

"I'm sorry, I don't speak that language. You'll have to pick another one." He turned back towards her, and lazily opened his eyes.

"It's not morning yet. It's too soon to be morning. It was just night time." She picked up the basket from the floor and swung it tantalizingly in front of him. "I love you. D'you know that? I do. I. Love. You." He shot up and kissed her fiercely, stealing the basket from her in the process and rummaging through it for what he wanted.

"So I've heard. We're rebuilding the east wall today, so you'll need all the strength you can manage." He peeled an orange while she turned his bed into a makeshift breakfast table, setting the rest of the food in the basket in front of them. "Your dad says that we might be done with it by tonight. The east wall, that is. Professor Flitwick was looking into the charm that created the ceiling, and he thinks that he can replicate it, and maybe even make it better than-"

"Hermione, you're babbling." Ron looked at her somberly as he shoved a slice of orange in his mouth and swallowed it whole. Hermione pursed her lips slightly, but stopped talking. She found the reconstruction of Hogwarts almost as fascinating as she had found its history, but Ron was never very interested in the building process, he just wanted it to be done. In a way, she sympathized. It had been 3 incredibly long months of rebuilding and struggling, but they were getting closer every day. "I'm not even working on the rebuild today. They have me scheduled for counter-spelling today down by the lake with Luna."

"Oh. Well I guess I'll see you at dinner then." Dejected, she started to scoot off the bed, but he caught her around the waist, pulling her down next to him. "Ron, you're squishing your breakfast!"

"Wouldn't it be nice to just wake up here every morning and then go to bed here every night?" He squeezed her so tightly that she thought she might not be able to breathe, but she managed a breathy giggle. "I'm serious, 'Moine. Think about it. You wouldn't have to wake me up every morning, because when you woke up, I'd wake up. We could spend a lot more time together."

"Oh yes, because you would wake up every morning just because I woke up." She let out an unladylike snort and she struggled to break his iron grip around her waist. "Ron, let me go. I have things to do, and so do you."

"I would for you! Besides, it'd be a nice sight, you in the morning in your knickers." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at her as she finally managed to get in a good jab at his side, and he let her go with an _oof_ noise. "Fine fine. Have it your way."

"I think people would get the wrong idea if we started shacking up together." She stole a rather sad looking roll from where Ron had squished it and brushed it off a bit before she popped a bit of it into her mouth, glaring at him reproachfully. "Up. Now."

"Let them get the wrong idea. I like the wrong idea. I think its fun." She rolled her eyes at his attempt at wiggling his eyebrows again and bent down to kiss him on the forehead.

"Your mother would hex those eyebrows right off your face." And with that, she left him as he shuddered at the thought. She bit back a laugh as she looked at row upon row of hopeless little tents, the sky bursting into a crisp, blinding blue as dawn hit and fell into morning. The children would be awake, and hungry, any minute now. It was this moment of silent peace and serenity that was hers every morning- a perfect, frozen moment where her parents were waiting for her back at home, and Harry, Ron and her were going to class, and Professor Sprout was lenient on these warm, carefree days, so it didn't matter much that the boys hadn't finished their homework.

_No. _She reminded herself, like a sharp slap to the face. _We are not so lucky._

A/N: Soooo. Yeah. I'm getting back in the hang of writing. Let me know what you think. Any form of criticism is fine.

Love you all!


	2. Marauder's Lullaby

**Chapter Two: Marauder's Lullaby**

**I am currently locked in an epic battle with hundreds of lawyers to prove that I actually did create Harry Potter.**

**But they keep asking for a DNA test to see if I'm JK Rowling.**

**Well, until I can prove that I am, I'm not. So technically I didn't create Harry Potter.**

**YET.**

Hermione sighed as she leaned back in her chair, rubbing her forehead with her fingers in circles. The east wall was finally up, and there was a single solitary table in the middle of the great hall that stretched as long as any of the house tables ever had. The Great Hall, still unfinished, had two walls that were now fully erect and properly spelled. The west wall was half built and the two great wooden doors hung on their hinges from the south wall precariously, but their childhood dining room was almost done, and that was making all the difference.

At the end of the table at the head sat Professor McGonagall, looking older than she had in years. She had muggle blueprints rolled out in front of her, spelled to show Hogwarts as a floating model above them, which changed back and forth between where they were at and where they wished to be. The workload was still staggering, and she could tell Minerva was fighting to keep up appearances. But the completion of the wall was a definite step forward, and had lit a spark of hope in everyone seated at the table- enough that they were no longer too exhausted to argue.

Currently there were at least 20 witches and wizards gathered around from different fields of magic. McGonagall had called in as many favors as she could to rebuild Hogwarts, and had even called on long lost favors from previous Headmaster's ruling. Unfortunately, all of these brilliant minds had very little that they could agree on. The teachers of Hogwarts sat on the opposite end of the table from Minerva, their chairs scooted within arm's reach of each other in a protective clump. McGonagall's guests sat across from Hermione, looking various shades of uncomfortable. The two seats on Hermione's left remained untaken; open for when Harry and Ginny came back (the hope in everyone's eyes when they had seen the two chairs placed at every meeting was almost heartbreaking). The Weasleys clumped around her on her right- Ron, Arthur, Percy, George, Bill, Fleur, and Charlie were all gesturing wildly to support Molly's very concise point. Within the protective reach of Professor McGonagall sat Lucius Malfoy and his wife, clearly overwhelmed, who were sitting far back in their chairs, afraid to say anything. Mr. Lovegood sat next to them, staring fixedly at a ring on Narcissa's finger, muttering to himself. Everyone universally looked distracted and upset at this new outburst, and their eyes were shifting nervously as Fleur muttered darkly to herself in French.

"Have you gone completely mad? The divide between houses is almost what got many of our children killed! We'd be crazy to continue sorting them into houses. It creates unnecessary trouble!" Molly crossed her arms over her chest, staring pointedly at Narcissa. Fleur put her hand on her mother-in-law's shoulder.

"Molly 'eez right. Too many 'av died for your silly 'ouse pride." She sniffed and stuck her nose in the air, a very Fleur gesture if Hermione ever saw one.

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley, but as you were never a student at this school, I will thank you not to make remarks about our school policy." Madam Hooch replied tartly at the other end of the table from among the teacher's seats. The other professor did not dare to nod or agree, but the glints in their eyes as they glanced at one another proved that they too thought the Beauxbatons girl had overstepped her bounds.

"Well per'aps eet takes an outsider too see zat you 'ave done something wrong!" She slammed her hand down on the table in front of her as her nostrils flared. Mrs. Weasley nodded appreciatively as Hermione inwardly giggled. A year ago, no one would've imagined the two women getting along, but tragedy had brought them together finally in Fred's death. "And I was housed 'ere for a year's time as well!" Narcissa's eyes met Molly's levelly as she stood. Every inch of her rippled with pride.

"You think we are unaware that the house divide has made things difficult?" She hissed through her teeth, placing her hands on the table as well. Her nails, which used to be long, proud, and dyed red, much like claws, were now chewed down to her fingertips, and the red paint almost entirely gone. "You think we do not know that when houses divide the wrong people get blamed?"

"Wrong people!" Molly bristled and started on her rampage again. "Wrong people indeed! If you had your way-"

"Enough." Minerva stood at the front of the table and the room fell silent. The Weasleys found their way back to their seats and Narcissa bristled and sat back in her chair, as Lucius placed his hand on hers. "The four houses of Hogwarts have been a part of this institution since it was founded. They are in our blood. It would be foolish to throw away such an important tradition."

"But-" Hermione sat a little straighter in her seat as all eyes in the room swiveled to her. Ron and Hermione were the youngest at the table, and Ron rarely offered up an opinion, but Hermione had stayed silent for too long. Without Harry, it seemed that they were clearly not meant to be there but Minerva had insisted that, being the people to carry out Dumbledore's last will and testament, they had a place among the rest of the rebuilding team. They would know what he would've wanted. "Dumbledore thought that they sorted too soon. Perhaps it would be best if we updated the tradition. 11 years old is a little too young to be deciding what your entire personality is, don't you think?"

"And what would we do with the First Years then, Miss Granger?" Xenophilius Lovegood asked her with his daughter's token dreamy expression. She smiled at him as politely as he could.

"I don't know. Put them in their own part of the castle? We're rebuilding Hogwarts itself. We don't have to make it exactly what it was before." She stood, and glanced at Professor McGonagall, who nodded her head slightly. "Put the First Years in their own wing. Let them figure out who they are, and let them grow a little bit. When they come back for Second Year, sort them."

"What if older students start recruiting- convincing younger students that they need to cultivate certain personality traits to be accepted?" Professor Sprout furrowed her brow down the table, but Hermione stood her ground. "They could be easily bullied."

"This isn't a matter than needs to be discussed now. What we need to discuss is how quickly we can get the children into this hall." Hermione sat back down. It would be a conversation for another time, but eventually the debate would come full circle again. "Arthur, how quickly can we get the other two walls up?"

"An estimate?" Arthur wrinkled his nose while he thought, picking at his fingernails nervously. "If I get a few more volunteers, I can have it done by tomorrow." The table murmured appreciatively.

"I'll do it." Percy's hand shot into the air, along with Professor Sprout's and Charlie's. "I'm tired of pushing papers."

"You? Tired of paperwork?" George spoke for the first time in what seemed like years. "Pinch me. I must be dreaming." He slumped over in a faint that sprawled over the arm of his chair and partially into Charlie's lap. He shoved him off with a half annoyed grunt, half throaty laugh. George adopted a girl's tone of voice that sounded dangerously like a young Ginny's. "Pinch me, I'm dreaming, Charles."

"George Weasley, I will still put you in detention." McGonagall chuckled quietly, as did the other teachers as she jotted down their names on a piece of parchment, which she folded into a paper airplane and tapped with her wand. It flew out the detached doors, and into the tent camp, where the only light came from flickering candles outside of every other tent and created a pathway. "That's gone to Filius so he knows to expect you in the morning. It's late. Off to bed with you all."

The group staggered out, Molly and the Weasleys muttering conspiratorially to each other. Hermione gathered up all her things as Ron kissed her on the cheek and dragged himself out of the room behind his family.

"Interesting perspective, Hermione." Percy scooped up one of her scrolls and handed it to her. "You think sorting should be put off?" She smiled up at him as she scooted her chair in and stepped around the hanging doors before Narcissa could track her down and needlessly apologize to her again. Since starting to work here at the school, the older woman had thought it necessary to apologize over and over again for being present when Hermione had been tortured and for not doing anything.

"Dumbledore thought that it was a good idea. He thought Headmaster Snape should've been resorted into a different house." She tucked her chin thoughtfully as they lowered their voices in the tent town.

"Perhaps things would've been different if he had been." He stopped as he saw eyes peer out from a tent flap. "Back to bed, dear. Long day tomorrow." The little girl squeaked and buried herself back in her tent.

"Prefect Percy, back again to terrorize the First Years?" He laughed stiffly.

"If we ever finish this school, they may or may not be sorted." There was a hint of sadness in his voice. "Hermione, if we all keep arguing about every little detail of how this school is going to be built, it's never going to get done."

"I'm aware." She sighed and pushed back the flap to her own tent and set all of her papers and books on the small table inside. Her tent was relatively small, and really only contained a rectangular table, two chairs, her cot, and a small trunk that served as her closet, and bookshelf. Percy took a seat, spreading out the papers and opening 'Hogwarts, A History' to a bookmarked page of Hermione's. "They won't agree on anything. If Harry were here, he could make them see sense."

"You mean, he would make them see your sense?" She gave him a scathing look and closed the book with snap. It very narrowly missed his fingers, and Percy gave her a swift apologetic glance as he took off his glasses and polished them on his shirt. "I'm sorry, but he listens to you."

"He would listen to me, only because I'm right." She placed her empty basket right outside the tent flap and avoided his eyes. "We have to compromise. And Dumbledore would've wanted us to think about future generations."

"Your future generation with my brother?" She almost vomited on her own spit as she turned on him. His eyes were wide and unblinking, and without his massive horn-rimmed glasses, she saw that they were an ocean blue color. They reminded her of Tonks' the first time she had met her, and she choked back a sob in her throat silently. "I'm sorry. That's really-"

"You're right. It's not." He placed his glasses back on his nose delicately and nodded soberly. "That's really not being discussed right now. There's no time."

"Of course." He stood quickly and stepped outside the tent flap, then turned back to look at her once more. "Just one thing Hermione?" The floating candles outside the tent flickered in his glasses, and created a glare so she couldn't read his expression. "Make time. You never know when your time ends." He murmured his goodnight, and she caught his eyes as he left. And now his eyes didn't remind her of Tonks- they seemed vaguely reminiscent of a laughing Fred Weasley's.

She sat at the table and looked down. Several clean spots had appeared on her feet, tiny circle drops that were pasty white instead of its usual grey-brown dirt. She hadn't realized she was crying. She sighed and rested her head on 'Hogwarts, A History' for a moment to think. If Harry and Ginny were here, things would be easier. And maybe then she could bother talking to Ron about their future or finding her parents or finding a pair of shoes that she wouldn't give away to a needy child. When she lifted her head again, she found the cover stuck to her cheek. Tacky and wet, she ran her fingers over it and shoved it away.

Her heart sank in her chest. Those hadn't been her tears on the book. Percy, socially awkward, terribly blunt Percy, was trying to ask about his family, not interrogate her about her personal life. Come to think of it, Percy interacted very little with his family unless he was instinctively sticking up for his mum, or was working alongside them. He never walked out of meetings in the Weasley group; he never sought any of them out to talk to them on their own. Percy had simply forgotten how to interact with his family. He didn't know how to be a genuine person around them anymore.

She growled irritably to herself and stripped down to her knickers, crawling into bed feebly. As she sunk down beneath the covers, she fell asleep almost instantly to the sound of crickets, and George Weasley's heartbreaking sobs.

A/N:

I know, I know. It's not M rated yet. Oh, it'll get there though.


	3. Writing Terms

**Chapter Three: Writing Terms**

**I still haven't won, and I've run out of witty ways to claim that I wrote Harry Potter, so I'm giving in. You win, JK Rowling. You created the most amazing world in the known universe, and we are all just a part of it.**

**Thanks to anyone who's read, and the 1 person who's reviewed- I super incredibly appreciate it.**

Hermione woke well before the sun again, and blinked sleep from her eyes lazily. The tiny tent was still relatively dark, and as she swung her feet out of bed, she heard a rustling that she didn't recognize. Instantly frozen, she snaked her hand under her pillow and let her fingers curl around her wand, not daring to breathe. In her head, she silently muttered '_lumos_' and then let out a half strangled cry of joy at the tiny brown envelope with looped handwriting that read her name, sitting at the end of her bed, caught in her blankets. She tore it open greedily and poured over the letter inside.

_Hermione-_

_Sorry to not write you sooner, but things have_

_been hectic during the search. Diggle and Hesita_

_really took their job seriously when they hid the_

_Dursleys- they've made it pretty much impossible_

_to find anyone. Harry keeps saying that you should've_

_taken tips from them when you went out on your_

_adventures last year. But finally, we've managed to  
track them down_

Hermione let out an excited squeak and folded her legs back up onto the bed, and pulled the covers over her knees, holding her wand close to the page. If they had found the Dursleys, it meant Ginny and Harry would be coming home soon.

_Vernon and Petunia have settled back into Privet Drive_

_and we're already on our way back. Harry certainly_

_wasn't exaggerating when he talked about them._

_How're things back at Hogwarts? We'll be back in about_

_another week, I think. Maybe less if I can talk some sense_

_into Harry. I'm glad to be out of the tent town, but I can't_

_wait to get back and see you all. Harry reckons that  
everyone's exactly as we left them- arguing._

_I'll write if I have time, but I'll tell you more when I  
see you in person. I can't wait!_

_All my love,  
Ginny_

Hermione clutched the letter to her heart and took in deep, rattling breaths to calm herself. Ginny and she had become unusually close for girls of differing ages at Hogwarts, and having her back here would definitely make Mr. and Mrs. Weasley feel better, as well as the entire clan, and Harry would make the older witches and wizards more at ease. After carefully memorizing its precious words, she folded the letter down into a tiny square, and tucked it into the diary under her pillow, casting a vanishing spell on it, twice just to be sure this time. Her mind raced as she pulled on her clothes for the day distractedly, thinking faster than usual. Something seemed just slightly out of place with Ginny's letter. The handwriting matched, and the tone of the letter was hurried, but not unusual given the circumstances. So why couldn't she shake the feeling that something was wrong?

She wrapped her hair into a tight bun at the base of her neck, and grabbed her basket from the tent flap, not bothering to wake Ron this morning to eat. Instead, she tiptoed her way through tent town and down to the lake, finding a large flat rock to sit on that overlooked the great lake that she had always loved. The lake rippled and gleamed in the pre-dawn twinkle, and very vaguely, Hermione could hear the distant calling of the Merpeople as they started their day underwater. From what she understood of the situation around Hogwarts, the mystical creatures around them had a great deal of rebuilding to do as well. Dark curses and killing had tainted the area enough that the unicorns that lived in the Forbidden Forest, and the Centaurs as well, had migrated farther away to the west. Minerva had set up a task force to cleaning the woods of any dark magic that remained, and Hagrid had remained firmly at the head of that force- he took great pride in being able to finally show the woods that he cared for so much to people that would actually appreciate it.

Slowly munching on what she could only assume was a day old apple tart, she thought everything Ginny had said in her letter over in her head one more time, before shaking her head violently to rid herself of the thought. If something was really wrong, Ginny would've written about it. Surely, she was simply reading too much into it, and worrying for the sake of worrying.

"You got her letter?" She jumped, and panicked, raising the crumbling pasty in her right hand and turning quickly, ready to launch it at whoever was behind her. Percy stood there in work jeans and a baggy grey t-shirt, holding a letter almost identical to Hermione's, and looking bewildered. "Really Hermione? You're a witch! You're going to throw a biscuit at me?"

"You should consider yourself lucky that I was a Muggle long before I was a witch, or you might be dead right now." She let her heart rate slow for a moment, and then remembered something important. "I'm sorry about last night. I didn't mean-"

"Don't bother." He shook his head emphatically and sat down next to her, pulling his knees to his chest and looking over the still placid lake, "I shouldn't have said anything."

Hermione looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, and then offered him an apple from her basket, which he took in his long fingers and bit into carefully. The silence between them stretched like a very thick blanket as they watched the sun start to rise, nibbling at pastries and fruit, afraid to offend each other again. The silence almost choked her, until she finally managed to get it out.

"I didn't realize you and Ginny were on… writing terms." She realized this was the wrong phrasing the moment she said it, and he quirked an eyebrow at her. "What I meant to say is, I didn't realize you were close enough that she would've- that is to say, I didn't think you two were-"

"Friendly?" He supplied for her, as she blushed a crimson red and nodded slowly. "Ginny started writing to me right after the Yule Ball. She wanted advice on a boy, and well… It just became our thing." Percy twirled the stem of the apple between his fingers, and threw it into the lake, watching the ripples ring out around it as it floated there. "I stopped writing back when I realized she could be in danger, but I… I didn't want to."

"That's very…" Hermione patted his shoulder awkwardly, searching for words. "nice of you, Percy. Really. It's sweet."

They continued eating in silence, and when they were finished, Percy walked Hermione back to her tent, where she left the basket at the flap, and the two walked in silence through the rows of children's tents to the remains of the Great Hall. The rest of their team met them there with sleepy hellos and muffled good mornings as Arthur explained which parts of the wall needed repair first. Hermione, still lost in thought, half listened and nodded along when she was expected to. Ginny was certainly hiding a few things from Hermione, especially if she was writing to Percy. She clearly had not written to her parents, or any of the rest of the Weasleys, as Arthur's face was still clearly lined with worry, and Charlie's strong and silent demeanor hadn't changed at all. Ginny definitely had the ability to be secretive, after all she had grown up as the only girl in a house full of boys and an overly boisterous mother, but what could she be hiding this time?

Assigned to the last remaining bits and pieces of the wall, Hermione drew her wand, along with Professor Sprout, Percy, and Arthur, and cast a perfect Wingardium Leviosa in unison with the others, carefully lifting the final granite stones into place. She shifted to glance at Percy for an instant, and found his concentration not all there either. His eyes were glancing back and forth quickly, as if he was reading an invisible text in front of him, his brow furrowed in frustration.

And just as her lips were starting to form his name to ask what was wrong, she heard a sickening crack, a woman's echoing scream, and the whole world went black.


	4. Azure

**I didn't create this, I'm not getting paid. I wish.**

**Also, I apologize for the lateness of this next chapter. We're at midterms in school, and I'm drastically falling behind. This was written in the middle of my psych class over a couple of lectures.**

**Chapter Four:** **Azure**

It didn't feel anything like floating, but more like falling. Every bone in her body seemed to be asleep, and she was left with the tingling, burning sensation that spread from her fingers to her toes, echoing in waves of unmistakable non-pain. All of her nerve endings we all at once on fire, and then instantly cooled by ice- it came in like sheets of rain.

The first time she woke up, she was surrounded by burnt sienna and cardinal red, and one bobbing blob of dirt brown. The next few times, there was only one burnt sienna mass there, and the one time she opened her mouth, she was hissed at, much like a snake, and told to sleep, and she happily complied. One time when the burning stopped and she opened her eyes, she could've sworn instead of the burning red color that hurt her eyes, she found instead a bright ocean teal. Her eyes opened even wider this time, almost begging for an answer, trying to focus on the ocean, when she was hissed at again, less like a snake this time and more like steam from a kettle, and was told she'd be given an explanation later, after she'd rested. She closed her eyes again and thought of the ocean and a cloudless sky over the Great Hall.

At some point, it stopped feeling like she was falling- she never hit the ground, but somehow the falling slowed, and she was back into sleeping. She dreamed of fire and the ocean, and of what the Griffindor Common Rooms looked like in her first year- like home. Something smelled like raisin cookies and pumpkin juice, and her mother was waiting for her at home over Christmas break. She drifted in and out of shell cottage, where she and Luna on one of their many walks on the beach had embedded some more shells in the wall closest to the roar of the ocean, and had littered the ground over Dobby's grave with flowers and shells.

And when she stopped floating, she became acutely aware that she was not in her own bed that smelled vaguely like a female but in a sterilized location, where the sheets felt cleaner, and not at all worn in, and the starchiness of them irritated her toes curled at the bottom of the bed. She opened her eyes, heavy, and unfocused, and waited for a moment while the world righted itself. She inhaled deeply, and turned her head as slowly as she could manage to look to her right. A lanky body sat next to her, reading The Daily Prophet casually, that smiled at her. Actual words formed this time in her ears and brought a slow smile to her lips.

"About time, dear." Fred or George cooed at her and she straightened things out in her head after a moment. George. George had cooed at her. "It's been three days."

"What happened?" Her voice felt like syrup, and it took a moment for her to fully register what was in front of her. "Why is your hair blue?"

"I prefer azure, thank you." He primped importantly and pulled a green wrapper out of his pocket to show her. "I was playing with a hair-color-changing treat that I've been developing, and I got stuck at blue. Mum's furious." She laughed until her ribs hurt, and tried to sit up in bed, George easing her up to prop herself against the headboard. "You took quite a spill."

"I don't even remember it, to be honest." She bit her bottom lip, and glanced around at the tent she was in. Sterilized and white, she was on one of three cots that lined the room. It was very much a tented replica of the Hospital Wing, and she was suddenly surprised not to see Madam Pomfrey bustling around someplace. George seemed to read her mind.

"She's with the children. We're moving them into the Great Hall, and they need to be double checked for illness, so it won't spread." She yelped in surprise and he cut her off before she could speak. "Yeah, they finished putting the final touches on the roof yesterday. Our cozy little village will be coming down on their side. The rest of us are still stuck out here until we can get the rest of the castle built."

"What happened to me?" Hermione struggled to keep her voice calm. She wasn't sure if she wanted to hear it, her pride was sure to take a hit.

"One of the big granite slabs fell down. Someone must've broken concentration." He was deliberately dodging placing blame, and for that she was thankful. He stood abruptly, his laughter gone. "I'll go get Ron. He'll want to know."

He left the tent swiftly, leaving Hermione's head still dizzy and confused. She slumped back down into her pillow and found herself drifting into sleep again, warm and comforted by the green wrapper that George had left on the ground.

When she woke again, she only opened her eyes a fraction of an inch, to see if anyone was there. All she found at her bedside table was a tiny, dirty looking journal that made her heart drop into her stomach as she reached for it with shaking fingers. She clutched it to her heart and gnawed on her lip, curling on her side like a child. She didn't realize she was crying until it dropped onto the bed, and voice filled the room.

"I found it when I went to get you your own pillow. I thought you might want to sleep in your own blankets." He was stiff and detached, and it broke her heart. Of course he read it. She didn't dare look at him, but she heard a chair scrape backwards, and Ron's voice sounded much like it had the day he decided to leave her and Harry alone. The same ache filled her heart. "I didn't realize I was such a burden to you."

Of course he had read everything. Of course Ron, his curiosity peaked at the hidden journal he would've only felt, would've read the entire thing once he had found it, wondered why she had hidden it that way. He would've obsessed over every page, read every line, wondered why she would say horrible things about him, like she had months ago when he left. And it was clear and obvious in his tone that this was not something that he would simply just let slide. His Weasley pride would get the best of him. He would dwell and wonder, and just like Ron, he would never truly forgive.

She let a wretched sob rip from her throat and shut her eyes tightly to block out the world, as Ron sat at the edge of her bed by her feet. She could feel him taking in deep, measured breaths, as he placed a hand on her ankle, and squeezed lightly. He didn't have to say it. Of course he didn't have to say it.

"You're leaving." His breathing stopped. And she let another howl rip through her, echoing through her lungs. He always left.

"Just for a little while, maybe?" It was a question. A breakup. A death sentence.

"Go." He stood up. He hadn't expected it from her. With the last of her strength, she heaved her arm up, the book flying from her fingers and hitting his shoulder with a dull thud. Ron stopped, and heaved a sigh, gingerly picking up the tiny trouble starting book, and placing it next to her again. She flinched as he reached out to touch her face, and he froze. "Go." She couldn't tell if she screamed it or whispered it, but it was enough to make him turn and leave, and the world echoed the words. Such a silent, wordless breakup, and it was all over.

She let her tears rock her back into sleep, and dreamt of a violent sea that burned everything it touched, and left it charred and blackened and dead.

She woke up in her own tent, the heat of the evening pressing down on her like a blanket. Her face felt paper thin, stained, and pale. She easily ignored the ache in her stomach as she pressed her palms against her eyes, making stars appear and wiping them clean. The tent was dark, and she clearly had slept through the rest of the day. Her book was sitting on the bedside table again, and she kicked it violently, shaking the lamp and knocking the book off. The air seemed stiller, much more silent, and she remembered that the children were inside, no longer crying into the night air. George's tent next to her was oddly silent as well, and suddenly, she felt her stomach cave into a sense of recklessness.

She tore off the hospital gown that she only now realized that she had been wearing, and pulled on jeans and a shirt from her trunk, throwing them on haphazardly as she stalked out of the tent. Her gut took a hit when she glanced across the way, seeing that Ron's tent was abandoned and empty- its flaps were open so the tent could air out in the August heat. With a gulp of courage, she dipped between the flaps of the tent next to her, and stood in the dirt of the tent that she had been avoiding like a plague.

All the months she had been avoiding the pain around her, she had been avoiding the obvious ending of her and Ron. She had put aside the grief of not being able to find her parents, of losing so many, of being strong and dependable and well-liked for everyone. She was always the moderator. And in the tent next to her was a Weasley who needed her. And tonight she needed exactly what he needed.

She slid across the dirt like a ghost, the dark of the room pressing around her so she couldn't see. But she followed the sounds of soft sobs to the bed, and crawled her way into bed underneath the covers. She heard his breathing stop for a fraction of a moment, and his sobs cease. She buried her damp face into his warm bare chest, relishing in the skin and how good it felt to let someone know that she couldn't handle the world. His arm snaked around her waist and pulled her taut against his body, and his tears started fresh again, and the heaving of his chest and her vague sniffles lulled them both into sleep.

Hermione dreamed of cinnamon and Greek Gods.


	5. Wool and Jeans

**What can I say; you never know when inspiration will strike. Just don't expect another one for another couple of days.**

**Again, JK Rowling is my supreme goddess, and I hope that in some twisted way, somehow she makes money off of me, and not the other way around.**

**But yeah. I don't get paid to do this. It's a sickness.**

**Chapter Five: Wool and Jeans**

The August heat made her head feel thick and full when she woke up the first time in the earliest hours of the morning, his gentle snores next to her barely audible over the sound of crickets. Maybe it was the body heat of two people under a thick woolen blanket in the middle of summer, or that she was still in long jeans, but either way something had to change. She could just barely make out the outlines of his pale chest in front of her, and decided that it would be easier explained in the morning without waking him. She slipped down the zipper of her jeans and wriggled her way out of them, kicking them to the bottom of the bed. He sighed, and slung an arm around her waist, pulling him closer to her again and she smiled, falling asleep to the sound of his now steady breathing, and the crickets that played along the lake.

She dreamt in black and white of rain, and of Greek Gods who stood in it, wearing battle armor proudly, and extending their hands to her.

When she woke again, his arm was still splayed over her hipbones, bare and exposed with just her cotton knickers to protect her decency. His fingers were dancing in his sleep, brushing against her skin all too delicately, which made her bones ache and her skin crawl out of necessity and human nature. The one thing magic had made sure never to cure, she cursed to herself in her head, was the innate desire to be touched and loved and held. And George's slightly calloused fingers over her raw, exposed hips were almost too much for her to bear. She flushed bright pink and pressed herself closer to his chest almost naturally, conforming to the contours of his body and breathing in his barely detectable scent of cinnamon and old musty books. It threw her off balance for a moment, and made her head dizzy. It wasn't something that she had expected of George. She also hadn't expected his chest to be quite so broad or it to lack any specific tone. He was skinny, to be sure, but he didn't have the cut abs that she had almost expected of a Weasley who cared so much about sport and play.

Her brow furrowed slightly as she chided herself. It certainly wasn't something to complain about, it was actually rather nice. But she hadn't expected it all the same. His breathing as he started to wake slowed significantly, and she pressed her cool cheek against his chest, feeling the heat radiating out like she was lying on the beach next to Shell Cottage again. A faint smile flitted its way across her lips, as he sighed when he finally woke, his fingers stilling in his wakeful reprieve. She finally chanced a glance upwards, and her body stiffened instantly.

She had expected to find the aqua of George's newly dyed hair greeting her, perhaps his lopsided smile and a joke about her pants less behind, and then they could get down to the tricky business of discussing all of the outpouring of emotions that had happened last night. Instead she found, with one arm tucked behind his head, and a thoughtful grimace painted on his lips, a very distracted, sleepy looking Percy Weasley.

In a moment of panic she started to move her legs, in an attempt to scramble away from him as quickly as possible, find the remains of her clothing, and run from the tent and into her own, to bury her head in shame. But his arm was now suddenly firm around her waist, and dragged her closer to him and pinned her against his torso. She stopped struggling, ashamed that she had been caught trying to leave and terrified at the consequences. She chanced another glance up at him, and found his very thoughtful round cerulean eyes watching her very carefully, and without his thick glasses covering them, she could tell they were rung with red, and incredibly hurt. She regretted her actions even more, and felt the guilt travel all the way down to her gut.

"Hermione." He was very clear and decisive, almost as though he was putting effort into saying every syllable of her name perfectly. It was a statement, a fact that she had to agree with. Yes, that was her name. She nodded very carefully. "Hermione. Where are your pants?"

She nodded in the general direction of the floor, where they were certain to be bundled haphazardly, and he let out a small _ah_ of understanding. Instead of going to fetch them like she expected, however, he simply wrapped the blanket tightly around her so that they were separated by the thick, woolen cover. His almost possessive, vice like grip remained, although she now had no intention of running anymore.

"This isn't your tent." She cringed internally at how bossy, 1st year Hermione that had sounded, but she stuck by it. "I thought this was George's tent."

She immediately regretted saying it; his eyes instantly glossed over with the look she had seen for years when Percy started an argument. It was a nasty mix of contempt and disappointment.

"Oh. And so you thought you would entertain George for an evening." His voice was even, and measured, but she could hear his rising anger beneath the half whispers that they were maintaining.

"Entertaining?" She was indignant, insulted. "I was trying to comfort a friend! I thought he was still grieving!" She glared up at him as he pressed a finger to her lips, which she half thought about biting off his hand. How dare he shush her! She was about to start an incredibly angry reply when his hand clamped over her mouth and his arm still snaked around her waist pulled her up to eye level with him so he could level her with a serious, blazing gaze.

"Molly and Arthur's tent is next door. Do you want them to hear you screaming at me while you still don't have pants?" He spoke at a whisper through his teeth, his blue eyes hard and smoldering. She opened and closed her mouth much like a fish, as he let her process the information for a moment. Clearly, most people knew about the break up. And Molly and Arthur would jump down her throat if they thought that Hermione was instantly jumping into somebody's bed the moment he left. That, and Percy was already on thin ice with his family. This wasn't a reputation that he needed, cleaning up his brother's sloppy seconds. She nodded slowly again, and he took his hand off her mouth delicately and placed it behind his head again, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling.

"Can I at least put my pants on, then?" She asked tersely, as he thought about it for a moment. She watched a blush creep onto his cheeks, as he kept his gaze fixed on a spot on the canvass that she couldn't find.

"And have you running off before we have a chance to talk about this? I don't think so." Before she could comment again, he gave her a swift, hard look. "I'm a gentleman, Hermione. I won't look." Before she could stutter a response, he sat up in bed very suddenly, his grip on her gone entirely, and bounded for the slightly open tent flaps. For a split second, Hermione thought to follow him, but then common sense took over, and with a lack of good hiding spots, Hermione simply buried herself under the covers, hoping no one would find her there. She heard Arthur's hurried voice at the door.

"Where's Hermione?"

"She stopped by a few minutes ago- said she was going for a walk to clear her head." Percy's lie was smooth, and Hermione was impressed. He must've had some practice with Penelope to lie so excellently to his parents. "Dad, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing at all. Just wonderful news." His voice was brimming with what sounded like excited tears, and Hermione was puzzled underneath the covers, still trying desperately not to suffocate. "Get dressed. Find Hermione. They just got back." With that, he was gone, and Percy was yanking the blankets off of Hermione, his face bright with a blazing joy that she had not seen there for as long as she could remember. She didn't need to ask who they were- Harry and Ginny were finally back. With a whoop of excitement, Percy yanked her out of bed, and she stumbled across the floor to find her jeans.

Percy rummaged through his own trunk, his smile still bright and burning ferociously. Hermione pulled on her jeans backwards during the first attempt, which sent her into a fit of giggles. Percy turned, with only his boxers and jeans on, to find her convulsing on the floor with laughter as she tried to pull on her pants. His laughter came too, more polite and reserved, but still filled with the hope that they had all been lacking in the absence of the two people they cared about most. He helped her to her feet, turned her around to help her out, and stepped back as she stepped into her jeans correctly this time. With a breathy giggle, she turned to look at him, and it all happened in a quicker instant than she would've liked.

Suddenly, his arm was around her waist again and crushed her against his chest, resting his chin on the top of her head. She inhaled deeply again, the summer heat making his scent even easier to pick up. He still smelled like cinnamon, and parchment paper, and something else too. Was it possible to smell like happiness, or pure joy? She grinned up at him, drawing her face away from his chest, only to have his hands catch the sides of her face, and have his lips come crashing down on hers.

Startled, she gasped into his mouth, terrified and elated all at once. Everything seemed to be burning to brightly now, the whole room was on fire, and then instantly cooled, in the same hot and cold waves that she had felt earlier. His mouth tasted like toothpaste and a drink that she recognized that her father used to love- bourbon, or scotch. She couldn't decide, and at the moment, she didn't care. The kissed seared her lips, burning away her very flesh, and then instantly turning her skin to scales, cool and sleek against him. She wanted to crawl into a warm corner with this kind of kiss, one that had been born out of the misery of last night, and now the delight of this moment.

He pulled away too quickly, but she was sure their shining moment had lasted much longer than she really thought. And then he was laughing and pulling on her hand, leading her out of the tent without so much as a care to the fact that he still wasn't wearing a shirt, and she ran behind him, tripping and giggling like a careless schoolchild through the remains of the tent town and to the ruins of the school that surrounded the Great Hall. Percy swept the door open for her, bowing her into the room as she searched and scanned the room desperately. He was not difficult to find. The children had all dragged their sleeping bags to get a closer look at him, now rung in a circle around a large chair, where a black haired, lightning scarred boy sat, with a ginger haired girl on his knee, retelling a story that was making all of the children react like a studio audience. Ginny animated and interjected into everything he said, using large impressive gestures with her arms. Every line he spoke made them squeal in delight, or terror, as the girls gazed up at him with pure admiration and love, and the boys she could tell were beginning to decide who they liked best in the stories, so they could act them out later.

Ginny saw her first, and in a blur of red, she had sprinted through the crowd of excited children and directly at her, and flung herself into Hermione's arms. Hermione, only slightly shorter, was almost lifted off the ground by her enthusiasm, and every sentence she tried to start only came out in a burst of giggles. As Ginny's mother finally got a hold of her and corralled her into every available Weasley's arms, Harry had slowly made his way to her, stopping to smile at a child here and there, and give them a reassuring pat on the head. She flung her arms around his neck, and clung to him as tightly as she could manage, as he whispered as quickly as he could manage into her hair so no one would see.

"He's gone?" It was urgent, and quick. She nodded once, and his grip on her tightened for a moment. "I'm sorry."

"It's ok, I'm glad to have you home." She buried her face in his shoulder, as he gave her a quick squeeze.

"Please don't be mad at me." He broke away from her, as her elation and joy suddenly turned to worry. This was it. This was what he had hidden- Harry had never been a particularly good liar, and his face was etched with telling lines.

"Why would I-" He cut her off and spoke to everyone as a whole.

"Everyone, I'd like you to meet someone who'll be staying with us for a while."

He gestured over to a corner; to a body Hermione's brain hadn't registered. He was tall, blonde boy, who looked uncomfortable and out of place, and lumbered out of the shadows with a tiny wave of his hand to say hello. Shy looking, and utterly confused, his lips were tightly pressed together in a thin line, and his boyish face was only just starting to have manly features, which were helped along greatly by a long thin scar that looked rather recent, and went from his ear down his neck.

"This is Dudley."


	6. Tele

**Chapter Six: Tele**

**A/N: So. Here's the update. It's my spring break, and I feel like I should've written more, and I absolutely intended to, but I didn't. Because I'm lazy. And because I like laying around my house and doing nothing.**

**So then I went through all of my old chapters and reread them, and facepalmed massively. My Microsoft Word decided that Hermione's name is not spelled Hermione, but instead it's spelled Hermoine. Guh. I could shoot myself. I'm so angry at autospell. It's destroying my life.**

**So anyway, here it is.**

**Also, fanfiction was weird and wouldn't let me upload till today. GUHHH.**

**For those of you who have story alerts on here- HI! I love you all. I think you're lovely. Thanks for stopping by. I would love to actually chat with some of you.**

**And for the few who have commented- I adore you still.**

**Also, I don't own anything.**

The din at the table was almost too much for her to bear, and she strongly fought the urge to clasp her hands over her ears and scream to fill her head with something else other than the babbling nonsense that she couldn't take. The table had been moved to the next best thing to the Great Hall, and the next big project- The Entrance Hall. It would take far less time to put back together, though more cleaning charms to get the stench of blood and the stains that had long stayed put from their final battle out of the flagstones that remained. Harry and Ginny had taken their seats next to her again, but were currently out of them, screaming over the table at the collective professors of Hogwarts.

Hermione sighed, and turned to look at the source of the entire problem, who was shrinking away any time someone even glanced at him wrong. Dudley Dursley was a brave young man now, who had been in hiding for months, and had now wanted to come stay among the wizards for a couple of weeks, as Harry put it, to better 'understand' his cousin. The teachers of Hogwarts were simply outraged, and now no one could get a word in edgewise. Dudley looked positively terrified as Professor Slughorn bellowed quite like a toad at Harry, gesturing madly.

She put a hand on his wrist and smiled at him. She had made it abundantly clear to him that she understood his way of life the second they had been introduced, and since she had asked him if he had gotten a cell phone yet, he seemed comforted by the idea that perhaps someone in the room would understand if he asked were a tele was. She mouthed 'ignore them' to him, and gave him what she hoped was a heartening smile, and turned back to the table. The Weasleys had sided with Harry, naturally, claiming that if Harry thought this boy was family, then he would be considered family for them too, though she had noticed Dudley was particularly shy of speaking to Arthur or George. But Molly had her way of convincing anyone that she could be a surrogate mother, and she had managed to get him to eat something, albeit suspiciously.

Fleur seemed rather disinterested, but agreed with her husband and his in-laws all the same, as she tossed her golden sheet of hair over her shoulder, Bill pulling her closer to him almost possessively. George kept sneaking glances at Dudley from his chair, and occasionally pulling different candies out of his pocket and toying with them, if only to watch his eyes grow wide with fear. And Percy…

She bit her lip nervously as she blocked all of the noise out. He wasn't saying much, but he was clearly better than he had been in months since the arrival of his sister back home. What had Percy been doing in George's tent? Why hadn't he tried to stop her last night when she crawled into his bed? And what, in God's name, was he trying to get at; kissing her right after Ron had left? Hermione's stomach knotted into a tight ball. There would hardly be any time to talk to him about everything, and, much to her chagrin, she couldn't just let it be. The guilt and questions had formed themselves into a gaping hole in her stomach, draining all of her energy and emotions trying to block it out like she was the noise. It was all too much to bear.

She murmured her apologies to Harry and Ginny quietly, and the entire table paused for a moment, concerned, as she stood from her seat. Dudley's eyes were wide, almost pleading. She nodded to the teachers and adults, and the Weasleys and forced a small smile.

"I don't mean to be rude, but I'm not quite sure I'm ready for all the noise." Molly hissed sympathetically, and George rose from his seat before anyone else could.

"I'll walk you back to your tent." He grabbed her arm, a little more forcibly than she was expecting, as everyone quietly muttered their goodbyes to her, forced to calm themselves for a moment. She felt his mouth get dangerously close to her ear, and in a calm, unnatural whisper, he hissed "Move. Now. We need to have a chat."

Her stomach plummeted as George pushed her out the doors, down the broken hallways, through the now mostly deserted tent town, his fingernails digging into her skin in sharp painful bursts. He shoved her away from him as they reached her tent, and she stumbled inside, careening towards the bed to find a seat as her head throbbed.

"What the hell are you doing, George?" He crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow.

"I could ask you the same thing. What the hell were you doing in Percy's tent, 'mione?" She threw her hands in the air, exasperated.

"Your tent! No one's explained this to me. Why was Percy in your tent?" He laughed airily and sat down next to her on the bed, swinging his arm around her shoulders. She shoved him away, irritated.

"Looking to get in a shag with me then, eh?" She punched him in the arm, and he scooted away from her, sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed, "Can't say I'dve turned you down. You're in desperate need of a sympathy shag. Prat brother of mine." She gaped at him, expecting him to continue. He laughed at her again. "I switched a week ago to be closer to Bill and Fleur. I don't like being so close to Mum. I begged him to switch me."

"And you didn't bother to tell anyone?" He pursed his lips slightly, and cast her a sympathetic look.

"We did. You were just…. Out." She stopped herself before she spoke again. It made sense- of course it made sense. It just made her feel like an idiot. She chose her words carefully before she spoke again.

"I didn't want to shag anyone, George. I heard," She stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath. "I heard you crying." George's eyes got wide and she hastily reworded. "I used to hear you crying. I heard Percy crying." She wrinkled her nose in frustration. "Well, I guess I didn't hear him crying. I'm confused."

"Your head still hurt?" He patted her knee sympathetically as she rubbed her temples gently.

"Like you wouldn't believe." He stood, walked over to her trunk, and pulled out a woolen blanket, covering her in it

"Get some sleep. That's a lot of magical healing you've been going through. Ginny and Harry will still be here to catch up with when you wake." She nodded drowsily, and felt her eyes close wearily as he slipped out of the tent.

She dreamt of a storm-tossed ocean, and Poseidon laughing, and then of a beach, and the smell of coconut and cinnamon. And somewhere in her hazy dream, she heard a familiar voice, and fought her way out of the drowning nightmare to resurface with a gasp back in her own bed, sweating and panting. Hovering over her, was a very worried Percy, his eyes closer to the color of the sky near twilight.

"Hermione?" She felt warmth rush to her face, but wasn't sure if it was from embarrassment, or from the sudden return from the chilling storm waters to the August heat in the tent. She opened her mouth to speak, but found that her throat was dry. He pressed his lips against her forehead, and it sent a wave of dry heat through her, searing her skin off. "Shh. It's fine. You have a fever." Her hand reached out to find his hovering at the edge of the bed, his cool skin a icy contrast to her overheated body, and her fingers scrambled to intertwine hers with his.

He searched her eyes swiftly, and found them pleading, begging, and his mouth twisted from the grim line it was set in to a knot as he twitched his nose, thinking hard. She tried to open her mouth again, but before she could speak, Percy stripped off his shirt to reveal his pale, freckled chest, and tossed it to the floor, pulling his wand out of his pocket, and casting a charm she didn't understand at the tent flaps. He shoved his wand back in his pocket, and slid into her bed beside her, rolling her on top of him as she curled into the fetal position, simultaneously absorbing her heat and letting his chill seep out of his body and into hers.

They shivered and sweat together in the night, tangled in the woolen blanket as their breathing regulated, synching together in the dark.


	7. Learning Opportunity

**Chapter Seven: Learning Opportunities **

**Apologies for being so long to update! I was the Props Designer for a civil war piece at my school, and then got tag teamed with Costume Design, Props Design, and Assistant Stage Manager for a Neil Simon piece. The life of a theater student. Whee.**

The ocean she dreamed of was terrifying, rough and ever-changing, swelling into hurricanes, and tossing her from wave to wave. She drowned as the Greek Gods laughed at her, their porcelain faces lit up with lightning, and she screamed as she plunged under the surface, sinking to the bottom of an ocean, and resurfacing in the sand of a blistering desert, where she crawled on her hands and knees, dying of thirst and hunger, aching to let the sand take place of her bones.

When she woke up, her body was covered in a thin layer of sweat, making her skin shine in the pale early morning light that was starting to stream through the tent. Her lips were chapped, and parched, cracked enough that she was certain that if she pressed them together too firmly, they would bleed. She shivered, suddenly cold, and pressed her face against Percy's chest, his heartbeat thrumming in her ear steadily. His broad, freckled chest was covered in its own layer of sticky sweat, but his arms were firmly locked around her, keeping her pressed against him. Her knees had been drawn up to her chest, and she had the faint feeling that somewhere in her fever dream, he had rocked her back and forth, making shushing noises into her hair. As it was, she realized as she chanced a furtive glace at him, Percy's hair was in disarray, and was still fast asleep, clearly exhausted from his night of caring for her. She wondered silently to herself how often she had woken him in her heated night terrors.

Letting her fingertips flutter against his bicep, Hermione sucked in a gulp of cool air between her teeth, trying not to let her positioning wake him. Her fingernails skated against his sticky skin, tracing down to his forearm, where his hand was balled into a fist, gripping to her shirt tightly. Careful not to rouse him, she pried his fingers from her clothing, and snaked her fingers between his. It was the least she could offer at this point.

She huddled against his chest, still listening to his heart beating rhythmically until she was lulled into a half-sleep, drowsy and warm and comfortable. Somewhere in her consciousness, she felt Percy's fingers grip hers tightly, and his other hand tangled into her hair at the base of her neck, running the pad of his thumb from the back of her neck to her pulse. She sighed contentedly and buried her face further into his chest, falling back into her dreams where the ocean rocked her as gently as a child, and the night was cool and calm around her.

When she woke again, he was gone, and she was left alone with the dull scent of parchment and cinnamon clinging to her skin. As her vision came back in stages, she focused slowly on the room around her, and found no trace that he had even been there. Had it all been a dream? She couldn't tell. A basket of food sat next to her bed, with Ginny's ever familiar handwriting scrawled across a note telling her to call for her when she was awake.

Hermione tore herself from bed rather sluggishly, and found her way to her trunk, pulling out a new pair of jeans and tossing the old ones on the floor, still too tired to care particularly about her appearance. She found her knees wanting her to sink to the floor, and complied happily, letting her arse sit back on her ankles while she stared at the jeans in her hand. She couldn't shake the feeling that the past few days had simply been a very difficult, strange dream. She shook her head slowly, and mused silently that perhaps this was one of those exceptional moments that she should just store away into her memory for later, but certainly not dwell on now. There were refugees to take care of; a school to rebuild, and Ginny and Harry were home. It was definitely time to get a straight answer out of them about Dudley.

With renewed determination, she pulled her jeans on as she made her way back to her feet, grabbed her wand off the nightstand, and shoved the dirty tent flap aside. Tent town was empty in the pale morning light, and it couldn't be far past 8 or 9. Most of the baskets outside of the tents were either missing, or already empty, and as she passed by Ron's old tent, the pang of loneliness that she had associated with his time away from Harry and her all those months in the tent, was oddly dulled. Almost as if it was an old scar that refused to heal over completely, she brushed the feeling aside as she adjusted herself to her surroundings. George's tent was unsurprisingly silent, as were Molly's, Charlie's, and Bill's. She begged her ears not to check to see if Percy's was as well, but the traitorous beings checked for themselves. He was not at home either.

Two identical tents had been set up next to each other, farther down the lane, and she recognized them both immediately. One had to be an exact replica, and the other was the very tent they had dragged for endless miles along with them in Hermione's handbag. She let a small smile flit over her lips at the sound of voices in one of them, and let herself in.

"Harry? Ginny?" Her voice echoed through the enlarged tent, as she heard Ginny stifle a girlish giggle and two pairs of feet scramble upwards and towards her from the bedroom. Ginny was the first to reach her- a stretch of long ginger hair trailing behind her sloppily- and threw her arms around her neck.

"Thank god you're up! I hated all this waiting around." Ginny's eyes shone with all the girlish glee Hermione remembered as she pulled away from her. "Mum said we weren't allowed to bother you till you woke up on your own."

"I'm surprised you haven't put her in a coma yet, Gin." Hermione disentangled herself from her favorite girlfriend and accepted a warm, albeit slightly less enthusiastic hug from Harry. To be fair, it was hard for anyone to be as energetic as Ginny. "Are you two living together?"

"Hardly," This drew a derisive snort from Ginny as Harry explained, keeping Hermione locked tight in his arms against his chest. "Dudley and I are in this tent. Ginny's staying next door so her mother doesn't kill me."

"The man's not scared of Voldemort, but of my own mother?" Ginny threw her arms into the air dramatically, the very image of the woman herself, as Harry guided Hermione into the kitchen and into a chair. "Perish the thought."

"She's a scary woman!"

"Not as scary as-"

"Hello?" Hermione cut in temperamentally, eyebrows raised. "Married couple? Can you get on with telling me where you've been?"

"Everywhere." Ginny tapped a kettle on the stove with her wand as Harry spoke softly, his fingers folding over each other as he slowly explained.

"The Ministry's been in chaos since the… Well. Since it all happened. It's almost as bad as here, really. Half the building's destroyed, paperwork is backed up years. It's a nightmare." He adjusted his glasses as Ginny landed in his lap, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "Turns out all of the top ranking targets information was destroyed in the first round of riots- that includes all of us, Herm."

"Unfortunately, that's where the Dursley's information was kept too." Ginny's eyes narrowed slightly at the name, but she continued on. "The Ministry had no idea where they were, or how to call back the people protecting them to tell them the war was over."

"We had hoped that they would be close enough that they would've read it in the papers, and tried to make contact with someone- anyone." Harry sighed as Hermione's ears picked up on a rustling next door. Apparently, Dudley had been exiled to the other tent so Harry and Ginny could canoodle. She tried not to smile at the thought. "Hestia's a bit too good at her job, I'm afraid. They weren't anywhere near here."

"We thought maybe Australia, like your parents, so we went there first. But, no such luck." Ginny scooted farther onto his lap, pressing her cheek to his forehead as an odd, comforting gesture. "We had a lead in Bulgaria, but that turned out to be nothing."

"We finally found them in America, in New York. Dingy little flat in a bad neighborhood- Dedalus was about to hex them al to pieces when we got there," the kettle started to whistle and Ginny hopped up, "The Dursleys were thrilled."

"Not for any of the right reasons." Ginny grumbled from the stove, which earned her a half-hearted pointed glare from Harry.

"I sent my Aunt and Uncle back home to go back to things but…" Ginny poured the boiling water into a mug she transfigured out of a plastic cup, and set the tea bag in, placing it in front of Hermione with a sweet smile.

"Dudley wanted to see." Hermione caught her breath in her throat for a moment. She knew how big of a step that had to be for Dudley. Where his parents and he had always wanted to hide Harry's gifts, Dudley had finally accepted that Harry was different, and wanted to see the world that he had shunned all his life. "He wanted to see what all the fighting was about- it was very sweet, really. He asked if he could help."

"He's not-" Harry laughed hollowly and a wry smile lit his face.

"Magic? No. But that would be a kick in the arse, wouldn't it?" He sighed as Ginny lingered behind Hermione, watching her like a hawk to make sure she drank her tea.

"You're just like your mother when you do that, you know." Hermione told the younger girl archly, one eyebrow quirking as she took a sip of tea. "Well, he's here now. How'd Professor McGon- Minerva take it?"

"She thinks it'll be an excellent learning opportunity for him, but he's been sworn to secrecy by the council, or whatever they are that's running this whole thing." Harry waved his hand at the air dismissively, thinking probably the same thing Hermione was- that no one would believe him, even if he did choose to tell. Muggle skepticism was one of the easiest ways that kept the magical world a secret. She stayed long enough to catch up with Ginny and Harry, while they told a story about an Australian man with a straw hat that she couldn't really make heads or tails of (that they both found riotously funny, she supposed you had to be there), and when she saw Ginny's hand start to drift a little bit on Harry's thigh, she cleared her throat, thanked Ginny for the tea, and said she was going for a walk.

The midmorning had turned well into noon, and after a particularly loud grumble from her stomach, she realized how long it had been since she had sat down and eaten a proper meal. Her whole body was aching with hunger, and almost as if by cue, she heard Molly's loud, boisterous boom that she recognized from time at the Burrow, magically magnified for everyone to hear.

"Lunch time, everyone! That means you, Ginevra." Hermione bit back a laugh as she trudged up to the Great Hall. Perhaps it was time to really rejoin the land of the living.

I normally don't do a note at the end as well, but I'd like to thank those of you who have borne with me since the beginning. I know I've been absent for a while, but now it's summer! And I have lots of time to write. So yay!

Next chapter will be a little different. We get to hear some things about Percy.

Love and kisses!


	8. Thesaurus

**Chapter Eight: Thesaurus**

Percy was… distressed.

Perhaps distressed wasn't the best way to put it, he mused silently to himself as he stretched his limbs on the stiff ground. The water by the lake rippled silently next to him as he adjusted his glasses on his nose and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to calm himself. When he was upset, he had a habit of running through all the alternative words in his head. It was repetitive, and strange, even, but it helped somewhat to identify what he was feeling.

Distressed, disturbed, upset, concerned, worried, anxious, apprehensive…

He felt himself start to relax and clenched and unclenched his fingers as he inhaled the faint smell of lake and seaweed, and expelled every bit of oxygen in his body. He had tried to sleep next to Hermione once her fever had broken, but he couldn't get himself comfortable, and then had gone to his own bed to attempt sleep there, but found it was too hot, and all the cooling charms he could manage still couldn't get him to sleep. So he had forced himself down to the lake to attempt a nap before he was expected anywhere, and he had found his mind still racing as he laid on the ground next to a large, shady tree.

Apprehensive wasn't the right word either.

Apprehensive, uneasy, edgy, nervous...

He had stripped down to just his jeans, making himself considerably cooler, but in August, it was almost impossible to be cool in any sense of the word. Nervous didn't sound right either. His brow furrowed as he kept breathing steadily in and out. Why couldn't he sleep?

Nervous, tense, uptight…

He shot up suddenly and curse as he chucked the shirt he had been using as a pillow in frustration. This wasn't working. Nothing was working. He lay back down again, grumbling to himself, as the breeze caught up and he inhaled one more time, he went stiff.

Strawberries and honey.

Disturbed, dammit, worried, dammit, nervous, dammit, apprehensive, dammit, uneasy, dammit.

Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit.

He knew that scent. He had inhaled it all night as a girl in his arms thrashed and kicked and bruised him, screaming incoherently and fighting his grip around her waist. He had awoken to it one morning, pleasantly amused, and hiding his arousal at the sweet smell of honey, strawberries, and something undeniably female. He had smelled it the night she had come in, drifting on the August air and making it heavy and smothering. He hadn't been able to go back to sleep this morning in her bed because he had a terrible impulse to run the flat of his tongue along her collarbone, and see if she tasted as good as she smelled too. Who was he kidding? He hadn't gone back to sleep in his own bed either, not because it was too stiflingly hot, but because his bed still smelled faintly of her.

God-blasted, know-it-all, girlfriend-of-his-little-brother, her.

He had filed away their kiss (their amazing, world shattering, deliriously fantastic kiss, he reminded himself) in a part of his brain that was reserved for long, cold showers, and for things he would never think about ever again. But Hermione was seemingly everywhere- distracting him at meetings, getting sick, murmuring things that sounded oddly close to his name in her sleep. He had rationalized away her crawling into his bed like a child; he had honestly thought that it was a dream. He had rationalized away the kiss that had sent him reeling, it must've just been a knee jerk reaction to Ginny being home that made him kiss her. Hell, he would've kissed George had he been in the room.

Certainly not like that, a traitorous part of his mind nagged as he tried to swat it away impatiently with his hand, and I'm sure you wouldn't have enjoyed it nearly as much.

He groaned audibly, glad that no one was around to hear. Hermione's mouth had tasted as good as she smelled, and his brother was a Class A dolt for giving that up. He willed his jeans not to tighten as he shoved the memory farther and farther back, refusing to forget it entirely, but never acknowledging it fully.

"Well this is silly." He shifted his glasses on his nose and sighed audibly, and pulled his shirt back on over his head as he heard footsteps approach, turning to find his younger sister lazing her way towards him with a lopsided grin on her face, her hair tousled slightly more than he would've liked. Clearly, she had been having the kind of fun that big brothers didn't necessarily want to ask about, but needed to. He arched a knowing eyebrow at her, and her hand instinctively flew to her hair, smoothing it down. "Well you look… winded."

"You be quiet. Mum's just announced lunch. Didn't you hear?" She landed next to him with a small sigh, and continued to adjust her hair, twirling it through her fingers skillfully into a braid.

"I'm not really altogether here." He wound an arm around her waist and pulled her close to him, her head landing on his shoulder comfortably as he hugged her. "Welcome back, Gin."

"It's good to be back. I missed you." He kissed her forehead with a smile, as she tucked her head under his chin. "Everything ok?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" He inhaled gently and found Ginny's scent mingled in the one he had been avoiding and stiffened unconsciously. Ginny and Hermione had been together. What had she told her?

"I dunno, you've been weird. I barely got to speak to you, and you've been with Hermione every hour of the day since I got back." He relaxed slightly, but remained on guard. His sister could be incredibly sneaky when she felt like it.

"There's no one else to talk to, really. She's the only person who has half a brain around here." He started to get up, dragging Ginny with him and turning to face the castle. He watched her lips purse slightly, and then abandon her train of thought, but with that furrowed brow, certainly not for long. "I'm starving. Did you say it was lunchtime?"

"Absolutely. You can sit with Harry and Hermione and I." She grabbed his wrist and dragged him towards the castle, as Molly's voice boomed across the grounds.

Your unending patience is wonderful. I'm still writing! I promise!


	9. Soup

**Chapter Nine: Soup**

**Your patience and understanding is a beautiful thing. I love you all.**

**Again, nothing is ever mine. Except for the plot. And even then, sometimes I wonder if I'm not just a very convincing thief.**

During the war, there was never a moment when Hermione wished she was dead. Not when she was tortured, not when she was left alone in the woods with Harry, not when it was almost the end when Death Eaters invaded the castle- Hermione had never once ever wanted to be dead, and for it all to be over.

Now, sitting across a long, newly repaired house table from Percy Weasley, wedged between Harry and Ginny, with Weasleys surrounding her, Hermione wanted to die.

She avoided his eyes as a sloshy brown-ish soup filled her bowl, over-animatedly telling Harry and Ginny how the giant piece of wall had fallen on her, while managing to spill soup all over herself. Percy's large blue eyes had been carefully fixed on his bread roll as he picked it apart, twirling bits between his fingers and only smiling vaguely when asked questions. It was terrible.

And enthralling.

Hermione had counted the number of freckles that sprayed across his knuckles as he pulled apart his roll- 37. She had counted how many words she could fit into a sentence before she could take a breath- that one had made her lightheaded and the answer was 45, if she was really trying. She had tried not to count how many times he adjusted the bridge of his glasses- the answer was oddly 12, which seemed an awful lot for a grown man. She had thought about perhaps asking him if he wanted her to repair his glasses, but then reminded herself that Percy was one of the brightest wizards of his year, much as she had been in hers, and that if he really wanted to repair his glasses, he could've done it himself.

All of these thoughts played in fast forward in her brain before she could really grasp any of them singularly, and reminded herself that what had happened between her and Percy was being kept a secret from her two best friends. Things that perhaps Harry had thought she had kept secret, she had always told Ginny. And when she felt she couldn't say something to Ginny, she had run to Harry and spilled her heart out. Never in her entire life had she not told both of them something.

Maybe that was what was killing her.

Or maybe it was the fact that exactly every 15.7 seconds, Percy and her locked eyes for a moment in time, confirming together that no one else had picked up on any of the awkwardness, and that they were still in the clear. It was a terrifying and thrilling moment, and then as quickly as it happened, it was gone.

"How long do you think it'll take before the Entrance Hall is done, Percy?" Hermione's head snapped up from her soup as Ginny made the first attempt at including him in the conversation. Their part of the table quieted considerably as Percy adjusted his glasses- now for the 13th time. 

"Well, that really depends on when the castle returns to being a sentient being." He stared thoughtfully at his bread as he tore it into smaller pieces. "Once the castle's main vascular system is repaired enough, the magic that's imbued into it should start working in our favor. That's why it's so imperative that we finish the main buildings as quickly as possible. The sooner we can get those buildings running, the school will start to take its own course and help us as much as it can."

They stared at him as Hermione rolled her eyes- she was used to this reaction.

"In plain English, Perce." George fed him dryly, taking a large chunk of bread and ripping it between his teeth.

"A sentient being is just a big fancy phrase for living." A very small voice down the table squeaked, as they all turned to stare at him. Dudley had been relatively silent since his arrival- it was different to hear him venture an opinion of any kind. "It means that your school is alive."

"Quite right." Hermione jumped in. She was used to making difficult things sound simple- it had been something she had done consistently for years for Ron, and even sometimes for Harry. "It means that the school lives and breathes just like us. It makes sense- think about the moving staircase, the room of requirement. The school is alive as much as we are." She dunked her bread in her soup, carefully avoiding Percy's eyes. "It's as if the school has a heart defect. As soon as we fix that, Hogwarts natural processes through magic will help us rebuild faster."

"Blimey." George breathed reverently. "Then what's taking so long with the main buildings?"

"It's a delicate process." Percy mumbled. The group stared at him again, and he cleared his throat. "It's-it's a delicate process. It is exactly like heart surgery. Everything needs to be reattached just so. Even if tiny cement slabs aren't exactly lined up, the enchantments that hold the building together and create that magic will be absolutely obsolete."

Hermione noticed Dudley's nervous glances, and shot Percy a look, telling him to quit while he was ahead. The last thing they needed was for Dudley to think the school would come back to life and destroy things, like in a terrible comic book or movie. Percy's startled gaze told Hermione that she would have to explain or apologize later, and her stomach knotted. She had been doing everything in her power to stop herself from thinking about later. Later meant that she was going to have to talk to Percy- later was dangerous and scary.

"So give me a guess then. How long?" Ginny pursued. Percy broke their intense stare to go back to his roll.

"Probably a few days, if we're lucky. If we're not, a week or two." The table groaned together. Another week or two meant that they certainly wouldn't be starting school this year at the correct time, and this had already been discussed with the planning group. If the school couldn't open in time, it meant that the school wouldn't open at all this coming year- the theory was that then they would be able to take their time to repair whatever needed fixing and not rush through it. Most of their friends agreed that while it was mandatory, it was something none of them were looking forward to.

"Well shit. That's just the worst news I've heard all day." George finished his soup and banged the bowl on the table. "I'm off then, Gin, Harry, mind coming with me back to the Entrance Hall? We could use the extra hands." Ginny and Harry nodded and smiled and followed him to where Mrs. Weasley was collecting bowls, Dudley trailing behind them, looking lost as usual. With Bill and Fleur rapidly speaking in French, Charlie on a tangent to Luna next to him about dragon ear-wax removal aids, Hermione and Percy were left to stare at their soup awkwardly.

A knot tightened in Hermione's chest. What was she supposed to do? Say _thanks for the snog, oh and sleeping with me the other night. Can we do it again? This time with less sleeping?_ She shoved the thought back away into her head and found her skin tingling and pink. She glanced at him swiftly to find that his cheeks were almost as bright as his hair and stifled her urge to giggle. She got to her feet and collected her bowl, muttering goodbyes to everyone, and headed to Molly to drop off her things.

"Need any help in the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley?" The older woman smiled at her as took the bowl and pointed her wand at it, the bowl suddenly whisked clean.

"Not at all dear- soup hardly makes a mess on anything but clothes- TAYLOR. PUT THAT DOWN IMMEDIATELY." she screamed across the hall. A young boy had picked up one of the candles and was brandishing it at a young girl. "Besides, I wouldn't want you to exert yourself- TAYLOR I MEAN IT."

Hermione smiled to herself as Mrs. Weasley chased after the young man in question; wand brandished in the air, and picked up the tray of bowls she had left behind. She needed something to do, and Molly would understand that she needed something to get her mind off things. One of the older children held the door open for her, and as she stepped across the still being repaired Entrance hall, she realized something. She had absolutely no idea where she was going. The kitchens would normally be downstairs, and had been left generally intact, but until more pieces of the building were done and the stairs repaired, there was no way to get down there. So where had Molly and the other kitchen staff set up to make all the food?

"Ze kitchens is een a tent outzide." Fleur's musical French came from behind her- she and Bill were also carrying trays of bowls and spoons. "Come. You follow me. I vill show you 'ere."

"Are you sure you're feeling up to working, Hermione?" Bill's eyes were worried and dark as Fleur steered them towards a rather large tent that had 7 small smokestacks somehow on top of it. "I mean, after the fall you took and-" he cut himself off before he could say Ron's name. Hermione beamed at him in the most reassuring smile she could manage.

"I need something to get my mind off things. Let me wipe bowls or fold dishtowels or something. Please." Bill cast a cautious glance at Fleur, who shrugged, and ducked under the tent flap. He piled his tray on top of Hermione's carefully, then grabbed her shoulders.

"If you need anything, you come find me. Any of us, and we'll take you back to your tent so you can get some rest." He laughed a bit, and released her. "Even Percy. I know he's a bit of a wang, but honestly, he's decent enough underneath. I'll be in the Entrance Hall helping out- ask Fleur if you need to find me."

Hermione kept her lips firmly pursed together at this, and nodded with a grim smile on her face. Percy was perhaps the last one of the Weasley boys she'd like to run to for help right now.

_Well, besides Ron, of course._ She ducked under the tent flap, and swiftly got to work.


	10. September

**Chapter Ten: September**

_**Author's note: TH here! I love you all. You've been so wonderfully devoted to these characters, just as much as I am. School is… rough, at the moment, but luckily, I pulled through alive and well! Now I'm on holiday, and I promise to update as much as I can and get myself on a schedule so that I never leave you with a break that long ever again. We've so far to go, but don't worry, things are going to get real interesting with the two of them SO SOON. I'm so excited about these next few chapters! Ta for now! – TH**_

_I am exhausted._

_I work my fingers down to the bone every day scraping dried bits of whatever we've had for dinner off of plates and bowls and cups- whatever magic can't get off is my job, since I'm still allowed nowhere near my wand in a work capacity. However, with working so hard, Molly's finally started to trust me a bit more and see that I can actually work through a day by myself without her asking me every 5 minutes if I need to sit down or tell me that I'm starting to look pale._

_I've realized that I'm an extraordinarily pale girl since all of this badgering began._

_The Entrance Hall is finished- it took a lot longer than expected, but it's done. That means it's time to move on to repairing the hallways, the West Wing, and then hopefully after that, The Hospital Wing. I don't sit in on meetings lately, I'm annoyed by all the constant bickering about what will change when the castle reopens._

_If I'm being totally honest with myself, though, it's because it's an easy way to avoid seeing people I don't want to see. Percy and I still haven't talked about everything that happened- I think that's for the best, really. Chalk it up to feeling vulnerable after Ron left, paired with being out of my bloody mind with fever. Ron._

_I haven't thought much about him. Most nights I'm just too tired to, really. I don't think I'm angry anymore, just… numb. Is numb the right word? He has every right to be mad. I have every right to be mad. No one is wrong, and no one is right._

_And I hate that. It would be much easier if I could just hate him, like I used to when he left because he was being foolish and a prat, like usual. But this time… this time it's different._

_Maybe that's just me justifying what I did with Percy. I have no idea anymore. My head's become a very dangerous place lately._

_Working helps. I work with Fleur, Molly, and strangely, Xenophilius Lovegood, every day. I'm learning bits of French and watching Molly and Fleur start to get on really well- it's nice to see them getting along. Mr. Lovegood tends to mind his own business, but he makes the best baked potato soup I've ever had. Of course, he thinks it's a cure for something called skervin blindness, which we all apparently have, but nevertheless, it's delicious. Molly tried to get Ginny to help out too, but she wouldn't have any of it. Said she wouldn't leave Harry's side ever again. It's sweet, but I miss her. I barely get to see anyone anymore._

_We wake up before everyone and put together the adult's baskets of food to drop off at their tents while Molly makes porridge for the kids. That's usually my job, to hand them out while everyone's still asleep. We eat while we work and the minute we stop, it's time to clean the dishes and get set for lunch. We eat our lunches after everyone's done, usually while we're doing the dishes for dinner, and during dinner, we actually get to sit with everyone. That's the only time of day that I get to see anyone._

_Well, George stops in occasionally to wreak havoc on his Mum and Bill comes in to kiss Fleur just when she's starting to get cranky- I swear, that man has a sixth sense about her. And Luna's nice when she stops by, though it's never for long, since she works out in the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid's said that she has a knack for talking to Centaurs- in fact, they seem to enjoy her company quite a bit._

_I'm too tried to write more, but I promise I will later. When I finally get enough sleep._

Hermione shoved her pen and the book underneath her pillow- she couldn't be bothered to use a quill anymore, she was simply too exhausted, so she had broken out her pencils and pens and retreated back to the Muggle side of her a bit. She stretched herself out on her back, flexing her fingers and toes while she stared at the ceiling of her tent. September already. A week ago would've marked the first day of school for Hogwarts students, but Hogwarts was still, bit by bit, being repaired. If they finished the West Wing, people could start moving out of tents and stay in the classrooms, which would be a considerable achievement when it started to get colder. The chill was already starting to settle in a little at night- the days were still scorchingly hot, but the nights it had started to drop bit by bit.

Hermione threw her blankets on top of herself, and within seconds she was fast asleep. That night she dreamed of Hogwarts, pure and whole, just the way she had seen it on her very first day, like it was all just a beautiful dream.

When she awoke 2 hours before dawn, her entire body protested, furious with the hour and with herself for sleeping so long. Molly was bound to be awake already and cooking, humming even. As she pulled her jeans on, leg by leg, she cursed people who were able to do things like hum at this ungodly hour, and pulled a mangy looking shirt on. A shower. What she wouldn't give for a shower. Cleansing charms were great, and did wonders, but nothing beat just taking an ice cold shower on mornings like this. She grabbed her wand off the nightstand table and shoved it in her pocket, grumbling as she trudged down the alley towards the kitchen tent. She could already see the smoke pouring out of the 7 little chimneys and heard Molly whistling animatedly. _Whistling_ Hermione decided _is just as bad as humming._ As she neared the tent, she saw at least 12 little baskets all neatly lined up in rows, and ducked inside.

"Good morning!" Molly chimed as she stepped inside, Mr. Lovegood giving her a strange little bow as he continued putting apples inside baskets and levitating them to the front flap. "Sleep well, dear?"

"Hardly enough." Hermione yawned out, glancing around the kitchen. "Where's Fleur?"

"Oh, she's not feeling well. Not well at all!" Molly practically sang, stirring the porridge with one hand and conducting her wand so that various spices picked themselves up off the shelf and poured themselves into the bubbling pot of porridge. Hermione's brow furrowed. Molly seemed in an awfully good mood for one of her little kitchen staff to be ill- in fact, the one time Hermione had ever been late, Mrs. Weasley almost pulled her own hair out. "Not particularly well this morning."

"That's a shame, then." Hermione proceeded carefully. Perhaps Mrs. Weasley was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. That certainly wouldn't do anyone any good. "Should I carry on with the baskets, then?"

"Such a shame!" Mrs. Weasley crowed, and then gave Hermione a lusty wink. "A shame to have sickness. In the morning." Hermione watched her as she squealed like a girl. "Sickness in the morning. It's morning sickness- what a dreadful thing. That's the worst thing, to be sick in the morning." Hermione's eyes went wide as she frantically scanned the room to make sure no one else was there.

"You don't mean she's-"

"PREGNANT!" Molly screamed, with a shriek so loud it almost deafened her. She abandoned the pot altogether, and leapt into a jig that made the spices she was controlling fly all across the room, plastering the walls of the tent with cinnamon and nutmeg. "FLEUR IS PREGNANT!"

"But how do you-" Hermione sputtered out as Mr. Lovegood let out a great whoop and spun Mrs. Weasley into a jig, abandoning his apples and the remaining baskets altogether.

"A grandmother always knows, dearie!" Watching Mr. Lovegood and Mrs. Weasley dance across their tiny kitchen tent made Hermione's heart swell, and made the two of them look 10 years younger than she had ever seen them. She smiled and murmured her congratulations and ducked out of the tent, picking up 5 baskets on each arm for her first drop off. It felt vaguely pleasant and almost bubbly to know there would be a baby along soon, and surely Mrs. Weasley and Mr. Lovegood would stop their celebrating soon enough.

_A baby._ Hermione wondered silently to herself, as she dropped baskets next to the nearest tents with adults, smiling slightly. _Things certainly would be different with a baby in the Weasley family._ She found herself daydreaming about what a child of Bill and Fleur's would look like as she dropped off the rest of her baskets, and doubled back to pick up more. She waved to Mrs. Weasley, who was back to work, but bubbling over with excitement about grandchild names, and picked up more as she headed for the Weasley section of the tents. After dropping one off in front of Bill and Fleur's tent, one to Charlie, Harry and Ginny's, and pausing for a brief moment in front of George's to listen to his steady breathing, she let her giddy feet drag her over to what had become the most dreaded tent in the camp.

Usually, this tent was always the very last one on the list, because it was the one she wanted to stay the farthest from, and if she saved it for last, she could head off at a jog towards the kitchen tent and not feel badly about literally running away from it. She laid the basket down gently at his door and let herself muse for a moment, silently wondering what a Weasley baby's red hair would look like, before she heard it.

Percy was pacing inside his tent, muttering to himself. Hermione's ears pricked to hear her name mentioned, and instantly pressed herself up against the wall of the tent so that she could listen in.

"Speak. Talk? Converse. Chat. I like chat. Chat is good. Hermione, I was wondering if we could chat." He stopped for a moment as her heart caught at her throat. "No, that's not right at all. Hermione, I think we should talk." She cringed as she heard him thump his fist against something. "That's stupid. Hermione, I-"

"Hermione?" A loud, clear voice rang across the way, and she stopped breathing for a moment. She looked up from her feet to find Arthur Weasley staring at her, with a mix of apprehension and worry on his face. "Did you get lost?" Percy had gone silent inside, and her mind raced, trying desperately to cling to a lie somewhere.

"No- I…" She glanced around at the ring of tents nervously- no one else seemed to have woken up, but Mr. Weasley was waiting for her answer. "I forgot which one was yours."

"You were looking for me?" He studied her warily as she cringed and searched for an answer.

"Yes." The words tumbled out of her in a heap, suddenly, her brain catching up to her mouth. "." She stopped again, and took a breath. "Molly wanted to see you. Something's… happened." His face fell and he looked like he was about to start off at a run, and Hermione almost shouted. "No! No. It's good news. Don't worry. But she wants to see you."

"Well, thanks Hermione. I'll see to that." He looked puzzled, but it was enough to get him to walk towards the direction of the kitchen tent. Hermione almost collapsed in relief, shaking her head at herself.

"What's the news?" She almost shrieked out of panic, realizing that Percy had come out of his tent. In the dim morning light, she could barely see his outline, but she was certain it was him. This waking up thing was really not worth it at all.

"Nothing, it's just… it's really not my place…" She trailed off, trying to find words. He nodded swiftly.

"I see. Well, I'll have to ask one of them later." Hermione inclined her head slightly, shot him a hasty smile, and headed towards the kitchen without so much as a goodbye.

_No. Waking up in the morning really is just the worst._


	11. Laundry

**Chapter Eleven: Laundry**

_I apologize for the lack of updates, but I have very good reasons._

_Recently, someone very close to me was lost. I took it pretty badly. I didn't want to keep writing, because I felt the story would get too dark if I kept writing through the pain._

_But now, I'm starting to recover, and I'm finding that the recovery process is inspiring._

_I hope you like it, and I'm glad to be back._

_Xoxoxoxo- TH_

September was too close to ending.

Fleur had basked in the glow of new motherhood like any proud first time mother to be, and Bill had basked right along with her. The joy of new life and a baby had significantly changed the camp- the children were better behaved, the adults whistled while they worked, and the time flew faster than anyone expected. With the West Wing almost completely finished, the Ravenclaw tower was starting to rebuild itself. Arthur and the professors who were assisting the project had chosen this deliberately, they explained one evening at their meeting. As the Ravenclaw tower, it would probably be the easiest to spur some of the magic out of, and if the castle truly could start rebuilding itself, it would start here. They were convinced that since they were in the basement level, the Hufflepuff and Slytherin common rooms would still be mostly intact, so the argument of creating new common rooms for all the houses had been dropped, at least for now.

The night the castle had started to rebuild was the last time Hermione had seen Percy, in any extent. They had all woken in the middle of the night to a grinding, crunching noise, and all of the children screaming. As they all tore out of their tents, the giant stones of the castle's West Wing had started to place themselves one on top of the other, slowly, but surely. Hermione had stared, open mouthed, until someone jarred her by slamming into her shoulder roughly, and she turned to look directly at Percy, whose large blue eyes were torn between skimming her face and skimming the side of the building that was repairing itself.

"Isn't it amazing?" She could hear her breath catch in her throat, excited tears filling her eyes. Percy locked his eyes on hers, taking in every detail of her matted down curls, and the dark circles beneath her eyes.

"Beautiful." He exhaled softly, and Hermione froze. Here they were, caught in the heat of joy again, and all she wanted to do was close the 2 foot gap between them and fall into his arms. This needed to stop happening.

She took a step toward him, and saw the hope flicker in his eyes for a moment, and then tore herself away, continuing to walk, back to her tent, where she had thrown herself onto her bed, and convinced herself that she didn't cry herself to sleep because of Percy Weasley. She cried herself to sleep because she was so happy. So. Fucking. Happy.

The next weeks, the crashing of rocks shifting became a lullaby that the people in the tent town lived for at night, and the children feared and enjoyed. They had made some kind of game out of it that Hermione didn't fully understand, but that George had created. She avoided contact of any kind with anyone, and continued on her own business in the kitchen, and in meetings, avoiding anyone but Dudley, who was finding his welcome into the wizarding world warmer every time he came around, though he never explained the scar that was now more prominent than ever. He looked like he was about to faint the first time Bill had passed him a jar of something that smelled faintly like bay leaves, but now he and Bill chatted regularly at dinners about the different kinds of herbs that went into a cream like this. He was surprisingly knowledgeable about plants, and after only having to chide Neville twice, he joined their nightly dinner conversations, much to Hermione's pleasure.

It was the older witches and wizards who were starting to concern her now.

Hermione had seen crazy things in her life, but this was by far the strangest. Never had she seen wizards forget so completely that they were wizards before. It was odd the first time Molly beat George with a spoon instead of charming it to follow him around and whap him repeatedly. It was a bit strange the time Arthur dragged a sack of potatoes to the kitchen instead of zipping along beside it as it flew through the air. But it was absolutely bizarre when Molly gathered up most of the Weasley's dirty clothes, piled them into a basket, and trudged down the lake near twilight. Hermione had watched worriedly from her tent flaps, wondering if she had finally lost it, until Professor McGonagall had walked past, a basket under her arm as well. She watched the two older women chat animatedly on the shore line until they set their baskets down on the large flat rock that Hermione and Percy had eaten breakfast on together, giggled like school children, and then waded into the water about up to their knees. They each pulled an article of clothing out of their baskets, and a bar of Ever-lasting soap, and started to wash their clothing slowly in the water. As they finished a piece, they tossed the article of clothing into the air, where it seemed to catch on an invisible clothing line, and wafted gently in the breeze.

She was stunned- amazed. Two grown witches doing one of the most Muggle activities known to man, and doing it as calmly as you please. Hermione surveyed the rest of the campground, and found a few other heads poking out of tents, as slowly, more of the older adults found their way out of their homes with baskets much the same as Molly and Minerva's, and soon the entire lake was filled around the edges with chattering adults, basking in the cool water,

"'ermyownee!" Fleur shouted down the way, waving a hand at her as she smiled back at her. The two had become surprisingly close over the past couple weeks. Hermione's family had vacationed in France before, and had found the land beautiful and welcoming- it was all Fleur needed to hear. She was surprisingly homesick, and nowadays morning sickness had reared its ugly head as well. Fleur hugged her briefly, then kissed her cheek. "'vat on Earth is my mother-een-law doing?"

"I have no idea." Hermione replied, flummoxed, as George sauntered towards them, pulling on her hair affectionately. She swatted him away, annoyed. "Have you got any idea?"

"Washing clothes, seems like." Their small group of young adults seemed to be congregating around them, as Harry, Ginny, Bill, Luna, and Neville joined them right outside of her tent, staring slack-jawed at the adults who seemed to have lost their mind. Bill clasped his hand on Fleur's shoulder, and she leaned into him with a sigh.

"People of mum's generation, they had different views on magic then we did." He explained, as he rubbed his wife's shoulder slowly. "They used to believe that you could use up all your magic for the day, so they were taught to do things a certain way." He shrugged as the group giggled. "Certain things they all know how to do by hand. It's a generational thing."

They chatted for a bit, agreed to meet for a game of poker later in the week when they all got some time, and parted ways as soon as their professors and parents started to wade back out of the water. Hermione flung herself back down on her bed as soon as they were all gone, breathing slowly into the night air, forcing her lungs to inhale and exhale while she laced her fingers between each other. Since the kitchens were slowly starting to repair themselves as well, soon she'd be out of a job. The house elves would be coming back to help take care of things, and as much as she hated to let them help, there was something about it that was frankly, relieving.

She pushed herself up on her elbows and surveyed the small tent. Lately it had started to feel like a prison. A pile of her clothes caught her eye in the corner, and she sighed heavily, grabbing the basket she usually used to bring food around and tapping it with her wand, muttering under her breath until it became more square, and deeper. Piling her clothes in, she rummaged in her trunk for a bar of soap, found one, and trudged her way down to the lake, glancing up at the sky to find the stars greeting her there.

Setting her basket down on a wide, flat rock, she shucked off her trainers slowly, and peeled off her socks, letting her feet rest on the sand for a moment. The lake didn't have much of a beach, but there was still enough sand on the edge so that she could feel it between her toes. Tentatively, she waded into the lake. Freezing cold water enveloped her legs and she let out a low whistle as she walked in further, till the water caught at her hips snugly, her cotton shorts doubling as a swim suit for now. She sighed, and let her fingertips skim the surface of the water lightly, the ripples cascading outwards and hitting the shoreline. She waded back to it, letting her fingertips skim blissfully, and pulled one of her shirts into the water, her bar of soap in one hand, and started to scrub the edges of the collar with it. The water around her quickly filled with soapy foam, as she vaguely thought back to Mrs. Weasley and Minerva. Somehow, this was strangely therapeutic, and incredibly satisfying, much more so that simply charming it clean.

"Mind if I join you?" She jumped, dropped her soap, and snatched it back up. Her peripheral vision caught Percy's frame, with his own basket trapped snugly between his hips and his arm. She shrugged, as if she didn't mind much one way or the other, and he set his basket down next to hers, and waded into the lake himself.

"Suit yourself. The lake's big." She grimaced and rolled her eyes at herself, keeping her back to him. Very smooth.

"Would you like me to move?" She heard his splashes and a slight yelp as he dragged some of his own laundry into the water as she shook her head violently.

"No, it's fine." She continued to scrub furiously and was suddenly aware that he had waded up behind her. Her heart caught in her throat.

"Slower. And in wider circles. That's bad for the shirt." She slowed her pace and widened the pattern her hand had been going in, as instructed. "Much better."

"How'd you learn to do this?" She questioned as he went back to work on what she assumed was a pair of jeans.

"Mum." He grunted as he tried to work out a particularly difficult stain. Hermione giggled and kept to her own work. "I was a very… cerebral child-" 

"You don't say." She snorted.

"Very funny. Mum wanted to give me something to do to get me to stop thinking. She tried everything." Hermione chanced a glance at him for a moment while he talked. In a pale grey cotton t-shirt, and khaki shorts that went just past his knee, Percy could pass for any Muggle Hermione had known from home. The only thing that gave him away was his wand, sticking very slightly out of his back pocket, which she was trying desperately not to look at. What was at her hips, she noticed, was only to Percy's thighs, and while his shorts had been mostly submerged, the very bottom of his very thin t-shirt was skimming dangerously close to the water. She swallowed with difficulty. "I'm not very good at Quidditch, so that was out, and I never liked animals as much as Charlie or Bill. Even tried to get me into music- I'm a terrible singer." He threw the jeans he had been working on into the air, and pulled his wand out, muttering something under his breath, and the jeans flew towards the shoreline. Clipping themselves at an invisible clothesline, they started to waft gently in the breeze. "So she taught me this. It's soothing, actually."

"That's pretty impressive." Hermione finally looked him in the face, and smiled. He beamed back at her, and waded towards shore to grab more clothes. "So she taught you how to wash clothes like a Muggle."

"I thought Muggles used a launder machine?" He looked at her quizzically as she burst into laughter.

"Laundry, not launder." She threw her shirt in the air and Percy muttered the same spell again, as it found its way next to his jeans to hang. "They do now, but a long time ago, they didn't have machines."

"Oh." They were silent for a moment, as Hermione picked another shirt to work on. He caught her eye, and she stared at him, focusing on his glasses instead of on his eyes behind them. "Hermione, I'm sorry."

"For what?" The ripples around her stopped moving, until Percy took a step toward her, earnestly.

"The last few weeks. My actions were inexcusable. I've been thinking about it a lot, and I have no good explanation. I'm just sorry." Hermione caught her breath. He had been thinking about it. A lot. But he hadn't reached the same conclusions she had. She had been thinking about doing it again. And again. And again. She had thought about it every night, wondering if "accidentally" going into George's tent again would work. Tears stung at her eyes as she clumsily made her way back to waist deep water.

"It's fine. Really. Don't worry about it." She went back to her shirt, fighting back every instinct she had. Percy still hadn't moved.

"When Ron gets back, I'll explain everything. I promise." She barked out a laugh hollowly.

"Ron's not coming back." She rolled her eyes and ground the soap into her shirt. "And even if he did, it wouldn't matter. Don't bother."

"But it would matter!" He burst out suddenly, and Hermione dropped her shirt briefly. She caught it as it wafted gently through the water and gaped at him, openly. She had never heard Percy yell before. "It always matters! I can't do anything right." He was shaking, shoulders trembling as he clutched to a long sleeved work shirt. "My entire family hates me-"

"That's not true-"

"You don't need to lie, Hermione." He cut her off violently, and she snapped her mouth closed, pressing her lips together. "We all know it. They'll barely even talk to me. Everyone knows it should've been me." And she saw it, there, for the first time in months, what Percy had been hiding. Fred.

Fred Weasley was trapped in Percy's mind, trapped like wisps of smoke in a jar, constantly there as a reminder of what he had done. What no one had done, really, but what to Percy seemed like an unforgivable curse.

"My family will barely speak to me, so the least I can do is tell the truth to your boyfriend when he comes home. I'm so sorry." The shirt he had been holding was wrung into ball, and Hermione crossed the space between them, and put a gentle hand on Percy's, urging the almost ruined material from between his fingers, and into hers.

"Ron and I aren't dating. He's not my boyfriend. He won't be again." She listed off simply, taking her own soap to his shirt. "I can't say anything for your family being upset over losing one of their own, but I can tell you they don't hate you." She laced his fingers between hers, and glided the soap across the shirt in a wide circle, smoothing out the wrinkles he had created. His body shifted to press up against her back, their arms working in unison to create wide, soapy circles. "And I can tell you that even if Fred didn't die then, he might've died later. We're at war." Percy sucked in a breath right behind Hermione's ear, and she tensed for a moment.

"We were at war."

"What?" She turned and blinked up at him.

"You said 'We are at war.'" His eyes were wide, and brimmed with tears. "We aren't at war anymore. Thus, we _were_ at war."

She nodded deftly, and turned back to the shirt, dunking it farther in the water to wash off some of the soap.

They stood together, washing their clothes for another hour, her back pressed to his chest, making soapy circles in the lake, until they were out of clothes to wash.

And then they just stood, silent and grieving, the two smartest people they knew, both completely lost for words, watching the castle they had both grown up in slowly rebuild.


	12. Green

**Chapter 12- Green**

_Thank you to my readers and reviewers, who are the nicest people on the planet- they are also always right. 1, not enough Percy/Hermione stories get reviews, so run! Review like the wind! And 2, Percy's eyes are not green, they're blue. Thus, editing! I apologize, I don't have a beta, and I also don't have access to my original copies of the novel for fact checking, so I've been basing all my research online. The internet is sometimes full of lies. Boooooooo._

_In any case, I adore you all, none of these lovely characters are mine, and I hope you're enjoying yourself as much as I am._

Normal.

Normal, usual, standard, ordinary, ritual.

Normal. Normal worked.

Washing clothes every few days with Hermione became a ritual of sorts, and over the next few weeks, accompanied by the sounds of crunching rocks, they formed a strange sort of peaceable friendship. They talked about everything, from how fast the rebuilding process was going to go, to their cousins and friends, to a strange mutual interest in Exploding Snap that neither had realized before, always skirting around the dangerous topics, like his brother, or his family, or even more surprising, hers.

The day he had finally brought up her family to her, she had started to cry, attempting to be silent, and flung even her soaking wet clothes into her laundry basket, and stormed up to her tent. Later that night, when he had stopped by to drop off her trainers that she had left at the beach, he had heard Ginny's soft murmuring in her tent, and had wondered if he should interrupt to apologize, until he heard Fleur's light French lilt, which had sent him running. Fleur had become increasingly more and more hormonal, and the few times he saw her or Bill, they were suction cupped at the mouth together. It was a dangerous time to be around the part-veela in-law.

Dangerous.

Dangerous, unsafe, hazardous, risky.

But two days later, like clockwork, Hermione was back down at the lake again, her basket of clothes considerably larger than usual, and humming softly to herself when he had arrived. Before he could even attempt to apologize, Hermione had launched him into a rousing discussion of Wizengamot protocol that sent them into an hour long debate over how long someone should be granted a seat. By the time their clothes were both washed, he had forgotten entirely what he was supposed to be apologizing for.

Their meetings were never planned, and they had never talked about why they continued to meet, it was just mutually understood that every few days, Percy would gather up all his clothing in a basket after dinner, then walk down to the lake just as it was starting to get dark. He would dawdle and stretch and take a long time to unlace each one of his shoes individually, and then retie them with great care, setting each one aside onto the large flat rock where they had once eaten breakfast, and now kept their baskets when they washed. By that time, Hermione showed up looking frazzled and covered in the remains of whatever had been made for dinner, but always having changed into those small green cotton shorts.

Whoever made cotton shorts deserved a medal, Percy had decided, and especially these. The bright green shorts were covered in wide, white lettering, spelling out the name of some American University, and she wore them every time she came to wash. They were the bane of his existence, and also his favorite thing on the planet. Content to admire Hermione from afar, the short frustrated him endlessly and also made his day just that much brighter.

He had to hand it to the girl- his mother, Mr. Lovegood, Hermione and Fleur worked harder than anyone in the camp. Everyone else had teams of at least 10, if not more, but the four of them worked diligently and to exhaustion every day and night to feed every single person in the camp. The fact that the four of them managed to stay in such high spirits made him proud, but also made him feel entirely useless.

Being a part of the team that worked every day in one of the renovated classrooms was rewarding, in its own way, he had bargained with himself. Sending out owls constantly to gain financial support, helping Kingsley from afar, and working to find the orphaned children new families, or to reconnect them with distant relatives was helpful, to be fair. But he was tired of paperwork- tired of reading letters from disgruntled relatives who didn't want to help, or more commonly, relatives who really did want to help, and heartbreakingly couldn't. The entire wizarding community was still recovering, and though peace had actually been achieved, it was hard to convey to the public on such a grand scale that life could go back to normal.

It had become enough that the last time Hermione and him had met at the lake, he found himself blurting out suddenly that he wanted to do something different.

And that was how he had landed himself here.

After a long, thoughtful discussion with the board of adults and teachers about what else they could be doing to speed the process along, Percy had been put in charge of an entirely new project, and one of his father's design, which meant that it was insane, but also, in a strange way, brilliant.

Arthur had been puzzling over a strange problem every day, since Ravenclaw tower had started to rebuild itself. While the tower rebuilding was a sure sign that the school was starting to gain some of it's own power back, it wasn't happening fast enough. In the first week of October, it had become abundantly clear that if the castle didn't keep going at a steady pace, and then some, there wouldn't be much space when the winter months came for everyone to live comfortably, without threats of illness spreading, and without risking the safety of the children and all of the adults. The Entrance Hall and the Great Hall had been recovered, yes, but there was no guarantee that if the construction kept happening that something wouldn't be knocked out of place.

With the firm belief that the Hufflepuff and Slytherin dorm rooms were still at least partially intact, as well as the kitchens, the numbers figured in with those two extra common rooms, and a place for staff to be set up in the dungeons, that the school would be ready for move in by the time November hit, at the very latest. There wouldn't be space for lessons, and they'd still be cramped, but it would be safe against the harsh Scottish winter, and it would get a chance to put kids into actual beds, instead of in sleeping bags and cots.

And that's where Percy came in.

Sitting at the table in his tent, he looked over the list of names his father had given him, running his fingers through his hair. It was nearly impossible to find a group of six that he could trust as his team to explore the lower parts of the castle, and then find suitable replacements for, as well. But his father had given him no limitations except that he couldn't take a head of a project away from their project already.

Impossible.

Impossible, unfeasible, impractical, unrealistic, undoable.

He groaned, and crossed Bill and Fleur's names off his list, adjusting his glasses, while he sipped water out of a tin cup. Bill was too valuable now that he had been put with breaking curses out in the Forbidden Forest, and Fleur was pregnant. He certainly wasn't going to put his future niece or nephew in harm's way, and as it stood, Fleur probably wouldn't be working much longer in the kitchens anyway. That also ruled Hermione out, unfortunately. If Fleur would be leaving soon, it would leave the kitchen undermanned.

He could, theoretically take Luna, he mused silently to himself, sucking the end of his quill thoughtfully. Luna was a gifted witch, but on a project where someone could actually get hurt by a giant falling piece of rock or something of the like, Luna's natural whimsy might get somebody accidentally hurt.

"Percy?" There was a scratching of feet outside his tent flap as he put his quill down. "It's Hermione. Can I come in?"

"Sure." He leaned back in his chair as she ducked inside, a basket of clothing against her right hip, one eyebrow cocked at the disarray on his table. "What's up?"

"You weren't down at the lake, I was just wondering if everything was ok." She pressed her lips together, suppressing a smile. He hated when she did that. It was cute. "But now I see, you're doing… this."

"Picking my teammates for the project." She set down her basket at the door and pulled up the chair to his left as he pointed an accusatory finger at her. "I believe I have you to thank for all of this."

"Don't blame me; you were the one who said you were getting bored." She snatched one of his lists away from him, and gave it a once over quickly. "If you think you can cross off Harry and not Ginny, you're seriously mental. She won't leave his side."

"I didn't need you to announce it to the entire camp!" He grabbed his list back from her and his eyebrows knitted together. "I hadn't thought of that- they really won't be separated?"

"Absolutely won't." She confirmed, and he sighed, crossing Ginny's name out reluctantly. It would've been nice to get to spend some time with her. "Though you should consider Luna, she doesn't seem like much, but trust me, that girl's a powerhouse."

"I thought about her, but I'm too afraid she'll see a batch of Nargies down the hall and go skipping after them." He crossed Luna's name off as Hermione sighed and inclined her head in agreement.

"Nargles. And you're probably right." She tossed her hair out of her face and Percy commanded his body not to inhale. "That's a shame, though Hagrid's group has really taken a fancy to her.

"It'd be a shame to take her away from them, anyway. She's good with the forest folk." Hermione seemed to be puzzling over one of the names on his list, her lips pursed slightly. "What's wrong?"

"Why did George get crossed off?" He picked up his quill and twirled it between his fingers, sighing heavily.

"That wasn't an easy decision. I'm afraid he'll take it as a joke. I can't risk anyone getting hurt." Hermione took out her wand and tapped it against the page, the solid line through his name fading away slowly.

"I think you should give him a chance." She shrugged, as he lifted an eyebrow. "Call it a gut feeling, or whatever you like, but I think he'd like to spend some time with you." Percy sat for a moment in the silence, and weighed the options. George was excellent with charms and spells, and knew the castle better than most teachers did, thanks to his blasted map. Emotionally, George wasn't ready for the real world. But who among them was?

"I'll consider him." Hermione nodded and beamed, and suddenly he wished he hadn't seen that. Now he'd have to pick George, if only to get that smile back. "I need 6, and so far I have possibly George-"

"You might as well just say you're going to pick him." He shot her a warning glare, and her hand flew up defensively.

"George, Horace Slughorn, Lee Jordan, Madam Hooch," He stopped and set his list down. "And that's all I've got."

"Eclectic team." Hermione's eyes glossed over for a moment, and Percy held his breath. He knew this look- her eyes had narrowed down to slits and had a predatory gleam behind them, and her lips moved like she was murmuring very softly to herself. Harry and Ron had undoubtedly seen it more times than they could count, but Percy had only ever seen it from afar, and when she was finishing what was always bound to be a precise, perfect argument in a paper of some time. It was a dangerous look. "Care to make it even more eclectic?"

"How is that even possible?" He laughed shortly- she swatted the paper she held at him.

"Shush." She plucked his quill out of his fingers, dipped it in ink, and then scrawled in her pristine cursive handwriting on his paper, shoving it under his nose when she was done.

Dudley Dursley.

"You can't be serious."

"I absolutely am." She crossed her arms over her chest defiantly, her chin sticking out.

"Why would I take a Muggle with me into a potentially life-threatening magical castle?" He exclaimed, as Hermione calmly studied her nails. "He could be killed, I can't be responsible-"

"Percy, how much do you know about architecture?" He stopped, and closed his mouth with a snap, getting up from his chair and pacing nervously.

"Not a lot."

"Guess who does."

"I'd rather not."

"So you'll pick him, then." Hermione stood, and gathered her basked, clutching it against her stomach. Percy's brain reeled for a moment, and then he sighed, collapsing into his chair.

"Fine. But I still need a 6th." Hermione laughed, and he begged his body not to notice how musical it was- not now.

"Well, obviously, that's me." Before he could open his mouth to argue, she pointed a finger at him. "The house-elves are due back at the end of the week. Till then, Luna can survive with her father in the kitchens. Someone has to keep Dudley safe."

And with that, she turned out the tent flap, half skipping down the dirt road.

This time, he didn't ask his body not to respond to those green cotton shorts. He knew better than to ask the impossible.


	13. Sand

**Chapter Thirteen: Sand**

Hermione marveled at how warm Percy's tent could feel when people jammed in, and how much she liked it when it was just the two of them. Slughorn and Madame Hooch were cramped onto a low, orange loveseat that he had conjured for them out of a carrot, talking animatedly about the usefulness of old broom clippings in potions. Lee and George were bouncing around the room together, singing what sounded like an Irish drinking song. Hermione let out a yawn and let her chin hit her chest, closing her eyes briefly. Mornings. How were they so awake? She wanted to punch them repeatedly and go back to bed, but that would take too much effort.

Dudley sat on a stool in the corner, quietly running his fingers over his jeans, and Percy… well, Percy eyes were a little frantic, like he hadn't slept all night. Wordlessly, he waved his wand over the table, and the small candle that was flickering there went out, its smoke curling and spinning until it had formed a perfectly accurate pre-war layout of the castle. Each floor was perfectly remembered, not much unlike the Marauder's Map, but 3 dimensional. The room was quiet, as it erased the top few floors and expanded on the basement and the dungeon. Percy cleared his throat.

"This is the area we're going into." He pointed at the main stairs. "That whole entrance, as you know, is currently blocked by rubble. My father and his group are working on moving that now, so we should be able to go in by this afternoon. I don't want anyone exerting themselves before absolutely necessary."

"There's a passage missing on there." George pointed to a corridor with a statue of a man on a horse. "It leads into a big fat nothing, since the passage crumbled, but its there."

"Good." Percy flicked his wand at the model, and the passage added itself on. "Based on all the interviews done with people who were there, most of the structural damage would be in the dungeons and the Slytherin common room. Horace, Lee, and Dudley, that's where you'll be." They all glanced at each other, then nodded. "Dudley can't use magic, but he can help you assess the damage." Everyone but Hermione stared at him, till Dudley swallowed nervously.

"I was going to Uni for Architecture." He shifted nervously. "My teachers said I had a knack for it."

"Keep him safe, and he'll keep you safe." Percy nodded and Horace shot a wan smile at Dudley. "George, Rolanda, you'll take the kitchens. George, behave yourself, and Rolanda, don't be afraid of hitting him."

"Never have been." She snickered, her yellowish eyes narrowing.

"Hermione and I will take the Hufflepuff common room." She was suddenly very, very awake. Clearly, Percy had lost his mind, pairing them together. She glanced around at the rest of the group, waiting for someone to object.

**Oh wait**, the nagging voice of reason sneered, **this entire sexual tension thing is in your head. No one's noticed because no one cares. And because it's not real.**

She shook the feeling off and nodded curtly, earning a quizzical eyebrow from Percy. She pursed her lips to show that she wasn't going to say anything, and he plowed onwards.

"Keep in mind that we don't know what we're going to find down there. Expect the unexpected, and keep your eyes out for anything." He sucked in a breath of air through his teeth, which created a faint whistling sound. Hermione wondered how she had never noticed that there was a slight gap in Percy's front two teeth. With her newfound fascination with his mouth, she was surprised that she had missed this. "On that note, we're not expecting to find any survivors- it's been far too long for someone to survive in those conditions." He swallowed loudly; the entire room silent and waiting for the next words. "Be prepared for what you might find. Or see." His tone was harsh, but there was something in the blue in his eyes that was soft, almost sad. "There are many people who haven't been found, on both sides. We can only hope that they fled, rather than be trapped. Be prepared for anything." He rolled out a large sheet of parchment underneath the delicate looking smoke model, and it sunk onto it, slowly unfurling into ink. "Take the morning to yourselves, enjoy the day. I'll find you when they're ready for us to go in."

Hermione was slow to stand, watching George and Lee take off towards the Quidditch Pitch, taking about maybe going for a spin, if the weather stayed nice. Horace muttered something under his breath about finding his old office, and Madame Hooch trailed a few feet behind the boys, smirking slightly. Hermione pushed the tent flap back and stretched in the fresh air just outside the tent. October had been unseasonably warm, but there was still enough chill to force her to start wearing jeans these days. She cracked her spine, and caught out of the corner of her eye, Percy's lanky frame bent over the parchment. She exhaled loudly as she watched him push his glasses farther up his nose, and he caught her eye, giving her a lopsided smile.

"Just making sure it's perfect." She pushed the tent flap out of her way, and raised an eyebrow at him.

"I thought you spent all last night doing that."

"How'd you-"

"You look positively ghastly." She crossed the space to the table, and grabbed his wrist, pulling at it. "Some out and get some fresh air."

"I have about a million things to do-"

"Just for a little while-"

"I really can't be playing games right now-"

"Percy Weasley, I am giving you to the count of 5-"

"I am not a child, and do not treat me like one! I'm perfectly capable of-"

"One." She help up a delicate finger.

"I'm not going to-"

"Two."

"respond to threats-"

"Three."

"like I am a terrified child who is-"

"Four."

"Fine!" He snatched up the parchment, rolled it up tightly, and in the process broke his wrist from Hermione's grasp. "You win. Just this once, Granger."

Somehow, they all had the same idea, to gravitate towards the lake. Hermione and Percy had flung themselves towards a stretch of sand, Hermione's shoes long forgotten as she buried her toes. George and Lee were swooping and diving over the lake, skimming the surface with their trainers. Madame Hooch's rough voice cut through their delighted screams, criticizing their technique. Horace had found a charm to keep himself dry as he dug through the reeds for, presumably, ingredients. The children had found their way down too, either stretched on the grass to watch the show, or crouching next to Horace by the lakeside, as he gave them a silly lecture about the usefulness of toads in potion work, genuinely smiling at the 10 year old with bright blonde hair whose hand was in the air more than Hermione's ever was.

Her heart soared to hear George's roar of laughter, accompanied by the screams of children as he dove a little to close to their heads. It was almost like being back at school again. She turned to Percy, about to ask if he'd like to go listen, to find him curled on his side, his face turned towards her, his chest gently rising and falling as he slept. She bit her lip apprehensively, then curled up on her side as well, fascinated. The morning sun was warm and heady, and while she marveled at how long his eyelashes were, the warmth of the sand, and the angle of his glasses as the skewed, she reached out and gently closed his gaping mouth. Taking care not to wake him, she let her hand stretch and bury in the sand just underneath his chin.

She dreamed of Draco Malfoy's perfectly blonde hair, shimmering in the dappled shade of the Forbidden Forest in her 3rd year, and the strange desire she had to reach out and touch it. She dreamed of Fred Weasley's sweet smile when he found her crying at the Yule Ball, and her first and last kiss with a Weasley twin that left her breathless. She dreamed of late nights in the common room, with only Trevor the Toad to keep her company, as she scratched out an essay for Ancient Rules with his warbling croak to serenade her.

Hermione dreamed of life before war.

She woke slowly, unenthusiastic about opening her eyes to a world that was so bright. Carefully stretching out her toes in the sand, as she went to stretch her fingers, her eyes flew open. Percy, still asleep next to her, had latched on to her curled fist underneath his chin, gently running his thumb over the back of her hand. She smiled warily, and took in her surroundings, wondering what had woken her. Horace was still teaching the eager looking children, seeming to have moved on to Gillyweed, and George, Lee, and Madame Hooch were letting the oldest of the children swing their legs over their brooms tentatively. She glanced directly above her head and found a paper airplane hovering there, almost impatiently. She shook Percy's hand gently, and he blinked delicately in the bright sunlight, propping himself up on his elbow.

Never letting go of her hand, he yanked her upwards to stand, and whistled loudly to their peers. The world froze as he dropped her fingertips, and snatched the airplane from the air, skimming it quickly.

"It's time." He swallowed, and met Hermione's eyes, the blue vivid and terrifying. "Let's go."


	14. Tennis Shoes and Mapmaking

**Chapter Fourteen: Tennis Shoes and Mapmaking**

"Could you write any slower?"

Hermione's pencil paused on the parchment paper, as she crouched on the ground to write, gnawing on her lip tentatively. Percy's slightly impatient sigh was behind her, and she whipped her head around to glare at him.

"What?" It came out cattier than she would've liked as she glared at him, his grim mouth bobbing in and out of view in the small light his wand provided.

"Just tell them we're safe, and to send me reports that they're ok too." He glanced at his wristwatch as she started to scratch. "I need safety reports from everyone. It's been an hour since I've heard or seen anyone." Hermione hurried the end of the message, and folded the paper into a plane delicately. Pulling her wand from its holster underneath her left arm, she tapped the paper gently, and it took off into the air, plunging into the darkness.

They had left, according to Hermione's watch, exactly an hour and 20 minutes ago, each armed with a backpack full of tools, some emergency food (Molly had tearfully given this to them, explaining that it was in case 'the worst' happened), and sheet after sheet of parchment for notes and messages, and to draw maps to bring back to the rest of the camp. The Slytherin group had set off separately and an hour ago, George, Rolanda, Percy, and herself had split apart where their map had told them to go in separate directions. They should've reached the barrels where the Hufflepuff Common Room was located about 30 minutes ago, taken about 10 minutes to find the right barrel, and crack the code, and then start surveying. They were nowhere near it, now.

Lost was probably the best way to describe where she was, at the moment. Percy and she had chosen the wrong fork in the path, which was clearly only his fault, and now they were completely lost in the catacombs of the school, while somewhere in the rest of the basement were the rest of their companions, who they had completely lost track of. Hermione brushed the hair out of her eyes as she tucked the pencil behind her ear, getting to her feet, and offering Percy a hand up.

"Where should we try next?" He bit his lip as he balanced himself out, releasing Hermione's hand. She flexed her fingers instinctively.

"It's been getting steadily colder and colder." She turned and pointed down the hallway. "That probably means we're close to the dungeons."

"And if we're close to the dungeons-"

"We're close to Horace, George, and Dudley." She shifted the weight of her backpack on her shoulders, and slid her wand back in her holster. "And Harry gave Dudley the Marauder's Map before he came in. They should be able to help us figure out where we are better."

"Right." They started off in silence, Hermione's fingers curling and uncurling in time to her breathing, trying to stay focused while not focused enough to realize that Percy was steadily ending up closer and closer to her every time they set off in a different direction.

"How do you think Dudley's doing?" Percy's breath was almost on her ear. She jumped, then picked up her pace, watching her shoelaces slap against the floor as she walked.

"Fine, I suppose." She mumbled. "Professor Slughorn's a good enough sort. He'll be nice, even if Lee isn't."

"Lee would be fine, I think." Percy mused, more to himself than to her. Hermione forced her breathing to steady, keeping up her pace as her shoelaces gently **thapped** against the floor. "For a pure-blood, he's a good guy."

"I didn't say he wasn't." She grumbled, turning a corner. More nothingness spread in front of her, lined with classrooms. Sighing, she stopped as Percy unzipped her backpack for her, and he slid out a piece of paper. Carefully, he sketched what direction they had gone, and how many classrooms were in this particular hallway- 5. It was a makeshift map, but so far, it was their only way to determine that they weren't simply going around in circles. It was working, at least. Sliding it back in, he zipped up her bag again, and, nodding, took the lead, his wand glowing in front of him. She started after him, thapp thapp thapping in his wake.

"We can't be too far now." Thapp thapp thapp thapp thapp.

"Probably not." Thapp thapp thapp.

"Doesn't this look familiar to you?" Thapp thapp thapp thapp. **Breathe, Hermione**. Thapp thapp.

"Kind of." Thapp Thapp. **Why aren't you breathing, Hermione? **She paused for a moment, and forced herself to do what her mind was telling her, and instantly regretted it.

Shocked by a wave of nausea, Hermione's panic instincts kicked in. This all felt very familiar- too familiar. And not familiar in an 'oh look, that's where my 3rd year detention was held' kind of familiar. In a panic filled, nauseatingly sick, 'dear god we're about to die' kind of familiar. Hermione gagged momentarily, rocking back on her heels, and then careening forward towards the smell, knocking Percy out of the way as he screamed after her, confused.

She had to keep running. Had to. Something was at the end of this hallway, and whatever it was, she needed it.

Thapp thapp thapp thapp thapp thapp thapp thapp thapp thapp

Everything was a blur as she pounded against the ground, only hearing the sound her shoes made as she turned the corner, and skidded to a grinding halt.

Oh.

She didn't need this.

Every bone in her body fell apart as the impact hit her, rocked straight through her from the soles of her feet to the snap in her neck as she let her knees hit the floor. Someone had started wailing, a guttural scream ripping through the air like knives, and it took a second for her to realize that he throat was aching, like it was bleeding. She was screaming.

There were only two things that could make her scream like this.

One, bones and all, a skeleton, undistinguishable and unrecognizable.

And one, she couldn't bring herself to look at. A body she could recognize as female, decaying and rotting away, dried blood caked around them.

Hermione was pretty sure she had just thrown up.

It was the exact same smell that she and Harry had stumbled on last Christmas. The one that made her wash her hands and face over and over and over again until her skin was exposed and raw. This was the smell that had haunted her dreams sometimes late at night, when she was alone.

She couldn't feel anything anymore. Just numb and sick.

And like she was flying.

Oh, that was odd.

She found herself hoisted into the air, and pressed into a very warm chest as she shook violently, sobs stretching out her throat like they were desperate for air, desperate to be heard; a terrible sadistic war-cry that she had held back for months had finally found its way to the surface, and it would not be asked to leave any time soon.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard a door being kicked open, and soothing shushing sounds, but they only made her angrier. She wanted to break things, to scream and cry and hurt something beautiful.

She lashed out, her fist connecting with the side of his face, kicking violently as she screamed, but he kept a firm hold on her, his fingers digging into her as he maneuvered around the desks to a stretch of empty wall.

Percy set her down on the floor, letting her rock against the wall as he desperately searched through his own pack for something, anything to help. Hermione grabbed her knees and rocked herself back and forth, back and forth, as the back of her head tapped against the stones in the wall more aggressively each time.

Her entire mind was complete chaos. Somewhere in her, she knew that this wasn't where she wanted to be, or what she wanted to be doing, but the rocking helped, and the crying helped, and dear god the screaming helped. The screaming felt so good and raw and visceral.

She wanted to crawl out of her own skin, and hide under one of these desks- live there like a dog for the rest of her life, just out of reach of that devastating, brutal war that, even when it was ended, still wasn't over.

**How could it not be over by now?** Her mind asked as Percy uncapped a bottle of water and poured it over her hands to get the vomit off, finding soothing words to say that she couldn't hear. **How can we have fought a war and have finished it and it's still not done?**

Hermione was vaguely aware that Percy was asking her something- something important. Something she needed to hear.

But she couldn't keep her head above water, and everything sounded dull and dim and like screaming from the bottom of the lake; they were words that she would never understand.

The chaos was making its way out of her body, ripping her to shreds along the way, but finally leaving as she calmed herself down slowly. Logical solutions. Baby steps. Take care of one thing at a time.

She stopped screaming, but couldn't stop rocking.

Then she stopped rocking, but couldn't stop crying.

And then she could hear, but she was still crying.

**Weren't there a finite number of tears that a person had within their own body?** She wailed inside her own head, as Percy begged her to calm down, the blue in his eyes barely visible here in the darkness of this classroom, his wand cast aside and still alight with his spell far away someplace.

And when she couldn't think of anything else to do to stop the tears, her brain out of logical solutions, she did an illogical thing.

Percy was sitting inches from her on his knees, a small trickle of blood from where Hermione's nails had connected with his face streaming from just below his ear to his neck, his glasses dangerously askew. His mouth was set in a grim line, eyes wide with fear and concern. He was heartbreakingly handsome.

She leaned forward, letting her weight shift to her knees, and wiped her face on the backs of her hand, wet meeting wet. It certainly wouldn't stop the flow, but it was something. Tentatively, she unclenched her fist, and placed it palm down on Percy's chest, digging in to find purchase on the cotton of his shirt. His eyes got wider as she met them levelly, and with a tiny sob and a fresh batch of tears, she dragged him to meet her halfway, and let their lips collide.

He instantly reared back, his shirt ripping from Hermione's grasp as she mourned at the loss. He scrambled to his feet and started to pace slowly, running his fingers through his hair.

"Hermione, this isn't really-" She careened to her feet, using the wall as support to keep her balanced.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to-"

"Did mean to? Hermione of course you meant to!" He threw his hands in the air and paced furiously. "You're distraught-"

"You didn't let me finish my sentence-" He waved her excuses away asshe stooped to pick up the water bottle sitting abandoned next to her.

"You don't want to be doing this with me-"

"Says who?" She swilled the water around in her mouth to get the vomit aftertaste out and spat it on the floor.

"Says me for one, and it wouldn't matter-"

"Percy." He turned, surprised at the dark tone in her voice. The lack of light in the room had made everything less clear, but even so, she could just make out his eyes raking over her body before they met hers. "I want you."

"You don't really want that." He took a cautious step towards her, trying to explain. She shook her head.

"Now." He took another step towards her, slowly crossing the gap between them as tears continued to stream down her cheeks. As he got closer, she could make out the blue in his eyes starting to darken slightly.

"Hermione, you're upset."

"Percy, please." She stretched out a hand to him, and he took it cautiously, his fingers lacing through hers. She pulled him towards her a bit and he stumbled, blushing furiously. "I need a friend."

He stiffened for a moment, gnawing his lip, and Hermione held her breath, tears still glistening on her cheeks.

In an instant Hermione was sure she would remember forever, Percy closed the distance between them almost violently, grabbing the back of her neck and knocking his forehead against hers almost too harshly. His breath caught on her cheek as he searched her eyes, trying to find something that she would've gladly given him, if he would only tell her what, and his lips smashed onto hers.

If their first kiss had been born out of pure joy, this one was certainly born from the darkest of sorrows. He laced his fingers through her hair, tilted her face upwards and crushed his lips against hers, her bones humming softly in response. He caught her lips again and again, bruising at the touch, as she let her fingers search blindly for the pain she had caused him, her fingers smearing his blood slightly as he stopped for a moment to let out a low hiss. She mumbled an apology, but before she could get it out, he had crushed himself against her, pinning her to the wall with his entire body, which sent a thrill of heat through her that pooled in her belly. He broke away from her again, tangling his fingers through her hair as they both caught their breath. Percy nuzzled his way to the cook in her neck, and breathed slowly on her collarbone.

"Will you hate me tomorrow for this?" Bewildered as to why he would even think such a thing, Hermione arched her body into his, hoping he would understand. He let out something between a growl and a moan, and as his teeth sunk neatly into her collarbone, her whole world spun.

And Hermione lost her mind again.


	15. Consequences

Chapter Fifteen: Consequences

The first time Percy had met Hermione, he had been suitably impressed with the small, precocious girl with her nose buried in a book. He remembered helping her once with a potions assignment and chiding Ron afterwards that he should pay more attention to a girl like Hermione. She would go far.

Hermione's head tilted back and she let out what was somewhere between a hiss of pleasure and a choked sob, Percy noted, and he laved his tongue against the spot on her collarbone that he had just bitten down on. She trembled against him, letting all the air out of her body in a low groan.

In his 6th year, to be fair, he had been more concerned about Penelope, but he remembered drearily thinking that it was such a shame that all the pretty girls were getting attacked, and then shook the feeling away as fast as possible.

He kissed his way back up her neck, gently, savoring the taste of her, even if she was covered in sweat, she tasted vaguely like lake water, and a tiny bit of that honey scent he had been battling with ever since that night she had found her way into his bed. He shivered as he found her mouth again, plunging into her mouth with his tongue, determined to taste, to know every part of her. In everything, Percy Weasley was a scholar, and this was no different- she would have no secrets, she would have no part of herself that he didn't know.

When he had come back for the Yule Ball to help in his boss's place, he had been surprised, pleasantly so, what a charming young woman she had turned into. He had known Ron would upset her- didn't he always?- and had sought her out to make it right after reading him a very impressive lecture on manners that he had copied verbatim from his mother. She was, after all, much like a sibling to him. He had stumbled on a flushed looking Hermione, the color in her cheeks in full spring bloom, and the lopsided grin on Fred's face. Recently the memory had torn at his heart, as he remembered the lusty wink he had thrown at him as Hermione had dashed past him in the doorway of the classroom, a mumbled goodnight falling from her lips as she ran. More recently, he had blamed it on the loss of Fred. He wasn't sure that was right anymore.

Hermione's hands were possessively crawling up his shirt, her fingers stretched frantically, trying to feel every inch of him that she could manage. He explored her mouth studiously, learning every inch of her better than he knew himself. What if this chance was fleeting and it never came again? He would have to live on this for years to come, and unlike his precious books, he had no chance to reread this tome unless she let him.

The little interaction he had with her after that had only come from letters from Ginny, who, while hating him for leaving his family behind, and understood that Percy needed to be known as his own person, and had simply bungled all his words together into an indecipherable mess, like he always did. She had given him snippets of news, trying desperately to keep Percy up to date, as if he had never left The Burrow. But Percy's stubbornness and his sister's quiet rage had made the letters awkward until they found a solid mutual ground: Harry and Hermione. Neither was specifically related to the family, and both were familiar enough to the siblings that they could speak freely about personality traits without having to explain much. Harry and Hermione became a frequent topic of conversation in their owls, as Ginny doted on her crush and explained the whirlwind of being Hermione's closest female friend. Percy made notes on behaviors that Ginny didn't understand, and had to constantly remind his sister that the only reason it seemed like he knew more was that he was an outside observer- there were no strong feelings to cloud his judgment.

Hermione stopped moving, and Percy instantly drew back like a startled hare. Her lips were swollen, her eyes rung with red, but the faint trace of a smile was dancing across her cheeks. _It couldn't be half bad_, he thought wildly to himself, _if she's smiling it can't mean I've done everything wrong_. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and pulled her against his shoulder, cradling the back of her head. She nuzzled against him reassuringly, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm sorry to stop," She sighed into him, her arms still wrapped around him underneath his shirt. "It feels good to be a real person for a while."

He puzzled over this for a moment, but realized that she would explain in her own time, and stayed still and quiet, savoring the taste of her in his mouth.

"From the minute I got here, there's been this expectation that I'm supposed to go do something important, and be important." He felt the dampness of her face against his shoulder and made soft soothing noises. "I don't want to be important. I just want to be a person."

_Important. Hermione. Special. Hermione. Amazing. Hermione. Enthralling. Hermione._

"Hermione?" She lifted her face to look at him, and he scanned her eyes for a moment. "Did we forget your birthday?"

"What?" She was baffled, her mouth open, brows furrowed. "What on Earth-"

"Did we forget your birthday?"

"I don't see how that's even remotely the point, I'm not a silly girl that gets upset over people-"

"I'm not saying that you are I'm asking if we forgot your birthday." He cut her off abruptly, his eyebrows arched imperiously. She gnawed on her lip momentarily.

"Well, I suppose we did. But I really don't care-" He put a hand over her mouth before she could begin speaking again, and in a moment, her hands were gone from under his shirt, and a wand was at his throat. He blinked, as she smirked at him, removing his hands from her mouth. "Don't think they boys haven't tried that one."

"Fine, fine." He held his hands up in defeat and shrugged as she lowered her wand. "Look, I know you don't care, but you bring up an excellent point."

"Which is?" She pocketed her wand as Percy slid to the ground, his knees weak, and propped his back up against the wall, folding his long legs like a pretzel. All of this kissing and quarreling was significantly decreasing the air to his brain.

"Well, a lot of people are probably feeling the same way as you right now." He pinched his nose beneath his glasses, thinking hard on how best to word this. "Everyone's trying to be strong for someone else here."

"I suppose that's true." She sprawled herself on the floor, letting her head rest on his knee. His fingers absently entwined themselves into her hair, as she turned her face so she could look at him. "What does that have to do with my birthday?"

"I'm getting there." He chided her gently, still thinking faster than he could process. "I mean, all of the adults are trying to look strong for all the kids, all the kids are trying to look strong so the adults won't think they're weak. It's a vicious cycle- the only ones who get out of it are the babies, and that's not fair because they can't think much, really."

"Percy, you're worse than me." She nudged his leg playfully. "Spit it out."

"Fun." He stuck his tongue out at her, and flexed his leg muscle so she bounced unexpectedly. "There's not enough fun." It pained him to talk about, because had Fred been alive, he and his twin would have been in charge of that- parading around the camp, playing pranks, organizing contests- it would've been their dream. "Look, hard work is great, and it gets us where we need to be, but you have to remind people that they're human beings."

"And we haven't celebrated a birthday since we got here." Hermione thought out loud, finishing the unanswered question. Percy beamed at her. It was nice to finally have someone who could keep up and understand without having to explain every last detail. "We haven't really done anything, really. What was the last thing we actually celebrated?"

"We toasted to Fleur and Bill's health when everyone found out." Percy's said wryly, fidgeting with his glasses. "At dinner the night of. That was pretty much it."

"The brooms earlier today. And the impromptu lesson." Hermione interjected, her mouth knotted while she was thinking. "That's it."

"We didn't even celebrate when Harry came home, really." Percy pointed out. Hermione nodded absently. "The closest thing any of the adults have to a social life is doing their laundry, and even that's a chore, really."

"So are you trying to plan my birthday party?" Hermione teased, and he ducked down and kissed her forehead.

"Not a chance, since you're not a 'silly girl' after all." She swatted at him, as he let himself settle back against the wall again. "Just something. Playtime. A party. Something that we can let the kids play and hang out and the adults don't have to do much work for."

He was about to plunge into the next topic that his brain fervently needed to amend with her, but found no words in his throat, as he stared at her- her brilliant mass of brown curls was flowing over his legs as she stared at him. Before he could find any of the numerous adjectives in his head, he heard the crashing come down the hallway, and murmurs around the corner, as someone found what they had run from. He sighed, and gave Hermione one last longing look, as they helped each other to their feet, and headed for the door to greet their lost companions.


	16. Sometimes Cinnamon

**Chapter Sixteen: Sometimes Cinnamon**

When they finally came up from the ruins, a group of Ministry wizards were there to greet them as Hermione collapsed into a very relieved looking Ginny's arms, who was waiting with a hug for her. They almost ripped the maps out of Percy's hand, who hastily pointed out the intersection where they had found the bodies, and leaned against Bill. He and Fleur whisked Percy away before she could unbury herself from the mass of ginger tangles- clearly Ginny had been pulling and twirling it again in her anxiety. Hermione hadn't realized that people would be paying attention to what was going on in the tunnels, and had heard her screams.

After mugs of hot cocoa, and the Ministry employee's departure to deliver unfortunate news, she found herself in silence. The children, quiet as mice, had gone to bed early, aware of the tension in the air. She had been invited to the adult's conversation down at Hagrid's hut to discuss their findings, but the idea of sitting across the table from Percy had sent shivers down her spine, and she had politely declined. Now she found herself pacing in her tent, creating tiny clouds of dust wherever she went.

This day, this week, these months- they had all been complete insanity. A good kind of insanity, yes, but insanity. When they were in the middle of the War, this could've been normal behavior: no one would've faulted her for doing what felt good during a time where she could've died at any moment. But now was peace time- now was a rebuilding time, and her brain was still running at a million miles a minute, in a constant adrenaline rush. She watched her shoelaces thud against the floor, until her tent flap flew open, and she turned.

Percy was standing there, mouth in a tight line. She froze, panic stricken, and waited.

"We're all moving back into the castle."

The children moved quickly and quietly into the Slytherin and Hufflepuff dorms, volunteering to share beds with the little ones, with some of the older children grateful to take the couches by the fire. The chill had set in just in time, and the castle was starting to gain some of its usual festive heat back, but it was slow going still. Most of the adults had fanned out into the classrooms to set up warmer, albeit cozier, lodgings.

It took a week for everyone to move in fully- she saw him maybe once or twice in all the hurry, but even then, she wasn't sure that it wasn't another one of the Weasleys, since she only just barely saw a flash of hair over the crowd. Convincing herself that she hadn't concerned herself with his whereabouts at all, she settled into one of the classrooms with Madame Hooch, Madame Pince, and Professor Trelawney. She was 100% sure that this was a ploy to drive her insane. With her tiny cot, and the room magically expanded to make at least a fraction more room, she kept her trunk at the end of her bed, made up the sheets every morning, and joined Molly in the kitchen, where she cheerfully bossed around the house elves to get everyone fed, and Hermione and Fleur traded glances and giggles. She had given up on her temporary renewed effort with S.P.E.W. One, she was too tired, and two, they were doing things with food that she would never have been able to do in a million years. They also made cake, and cake, Hermione decided, was fantastic.

After 2 weeks, the Ravenclaw dorms had continued to repair itself almost to full recovery, and the former Ravenclaws with them sat patiently in front of the eagle head knocker, answering riddles as quickly as they knew how. Minerva had insisted that the more riddles they asked for, the stronger the magic would flow through the castle- Hermione had been invited on several occasions to puzzle at particularly difficult ones, but had declined, not wanting to see Percy.

Percy. After two weeks, still no sign of Percy Weasley. Not a friendly hello or a rap on her door- nothing. After those weeks of doing laundry together, eating together, and her making promises, and consequently, an idiot out of herself, there was nothing to show for it, except the now faded teeth marks on her collarbone, and an ache.

Not that she wasn't avoiding him too, but this is what she had been taught to do- girls were meant to run, and eventually the boy would catch up. But Percy wasn't catching up, like Viktor or Fred (who was a brief thing, yes, but still counted in her laughable lack of experience) or even Ron, who took 5 bloody years. And she wasn't sure she could be tempted to wait for 5 years for another Weasley, who would get so angry at words she had never intended to say to him, words that she had wanted to take to her grave.

She found herself toying with that question late at night when she couldn't sleep, tossing and turning on her cot while Professor Trelawney muttered in her sleep incoherently. Would Percy run if he knew every private thought in her head, like Ron had? Would it be the final straw for him? And Ron. Where was Ron? Was he safe? Was he being an unimaginable git to some other girl? The last question didn't bother her so much as the fact that if he was, any other girl would have punched him in the mouth by now, and he'd have plenty of bruises to take care of, which she was almost certain he didn't know how to do properly. Eventually, all the questions would subside and she'd have lulled herself into dreams of wolves' teeth and cold stone. And sometimes, when she was honest with herself, cinnamon.


	17. Dragon Families

**Chapter 17: Dragon Families**

A/N: Introducing a new character perspective. I know you want Percy, but this one is too much fun. We won't do him often, I promise. And you will get some Percy soon!

Also, you are wonderful beautiful people for your patience. I adore you all.

Percy was fidgeting.

That wasn't… well. That wasn't exactly new. But it certainly was annoying.

Charlie had grown up with Percy's strange habits- being the closest in age to him, they had often been thrown together at family parties when the children were told to run off and play in the backyard. The twins had loved to fly, as had Bill, and Charlie had grown to love it, but in the beginning it was always him and Percy, sitting in the dirt, watching flobberworms inch around and poking at them with sticks. Percy didn't like flobberworms, but he had liked Charlie, and knew that Charlie would protect him.

Charlie had always protected Percy. That was just how it worked. Bill was full of adventure and was just as likely to throw Percy into direct danger to see what happened as anything else, the twins just liked to joke, and Ron was really too young to have made much of a difference except run around and cry when he fell down. It was up to Charlie to protect Percy, with his too-thick glasses and his delicate bones that would break at the slightest provocation, and eventually Ginny, with her pouty mouth and those stubborn eyes.

Charlie liked dragons. That's why he liked Ginny and Percy. Plain and simple. Dragons were stubborn and delicate but thick skinned and Ginny was a little Chinese Fireball, and Percy was a Norwegian Ridgeback. He used to smile when he thought about it as a kid- he already had dragons, an entire family of dragons.

But when Percy fidgeted like this, he knew something was wrong. The only problem is that there was no way to figure out what, exactly. Dragons you could cast spells on, diagnostic ones, of course, and find your problem and solve it. If he cast a spell on Percy, well, he'd know about it, and not be too happy. And he'd probably also deflect it and get very annoyed. Norwegian Ridgebacks were like that.

And there was no getting to Ginny- when Chinese Fireballs were ready to mate they were single-minded in pursuit of their prey. And Ginny was hot on Harry's heels wherever he went: he doubted she had even noticed Percy's odd nervousness.

But it was there when they went to sleep at night, and Percy would toss and turn for hours, eventually giving way to exhausted half sleep. It was there at breakfast in the morning, which he flinched away from and took back to his room to eat by himself. It was in the way he second guessed his now extensive knowledge of the castle, shying away from questions he usually would've answered with an air of ease and security.

Sharing the tiny classroom with George, Percy, and an empty cot that was reserved for Ron (if he decided to come back) was not without it's fun, but the tension in the air was astounding, and Percy's fidgeting never stopped. And it was starting to give Charlie a headache, and when Charlie got headaches, usually he trotted out the dragon pens, and slept the night next to them, listening to them snore.

But there were no dragons at Hogwarts- none whatsoever. So this would have to be solved an entirely different way, and one that made Charlie massively uncomfortable.

Talking.

Ugh. Talking was boring. Talking was for people, and Charlie wasn't people. He had been born from a family of dragons, for fuck's sake, and dragons didn't talk- not in the conventional way at least. But talking was what needed to happen, and god damn it, he was going to be the person to do it.

After about 2 weeks of being moved it, he shoved Percy awake before daybreak, making him careen off the bed with a crash, as Charlie handed him his jacket. Percy snatched his glasses from his bedside table and was about to let out a string of cuss words before Charlie could throw his jacket at him.

"Put this on. We're going for a walk."

Percy obeyed, like Charlie knew he would, after he changed into a pair of jeans and threw on his boots sloppily. Charlie raised an eyebrow- that was new too. Percy had been the first child to dress himself, and did it immaculately. Something was very wrong with his dragon family.

Shoving him outside, Charlie hummed lightly to himself in the brisk October air, as Percy shivered, zipping up his jacket tighter around him and shoving his hands in his pockets. Leading the way, Charlie found his familiar track through the woods to where the old unicorn patch was, and trudged his way up the hills, Percy scrambling behind him.

"Mind telling me where we're going?' He spit out nastily. Charlie shook his head, trying not to laugh. Norwegian Ridgebacks were infamous for hating being woken up.

"Doesn't matter much where we're going- we're on a walk." Charlie said evenly, smiling. "Walks are for walking."

"Mind telling me why we're walking in the Forbidden Forest at the crack of dawn?" Charlie glanced over his shoulder at him, surprised by this level of nastiness. Testy.

"We're going to talk about what's wrong with you." He watched his shoulders visibly slump, and congratulated himself on a correct guess. Percy had always been incredibly self-aware, and if something was wrong with Percy, he could always be counted on to be the first to know.

The rest of the walk was silent, and only took a few minutes before they came to a small ring of trees around a grassy meadow. While Percy settled himself down against a log, Charlie took biscuits out of his pocket, and handed one to Percy, who mumbled a thank you and bit into it heartily.

"What's wrong." It wasn't a question, more of a statement, but Charlie had never liked not being straightforward with Percy, or anyone else. People were tough, especially his dragons, and they didn't need all that fancy skirting around.

"Nothing out of the ordinary, Charlie." Percy bit into the roll again as Charlie thought about this for a moment- there had been a plethora of problems when Percy had come to school, and had been picked on. "Just my total lack of people skills."

"People skills with who?" Charlie took out his own roll and sat cross-legged on the grass, munching quietly. Percy took a moment, and looked at the roll thoughtfully, then at Charlie.

"Hermione." This made him pause, and Charlie saw the first genuine smile creep slowly on Percy's face. "I'm not very good at words with her."

"You're not very good at words with anyone." Charlie pointed out bluntly, as Percy retracted slightly, his face screwed up with shame. "What makes this different?"

"Hermione's… special." Something in this sounded familiar to Charlie, like Percy had said it before. "She's different. I don't want to hurt her feelings."

"Girls get their feelings hurt easily." Charlie chose his words carefully here, not wanting to incite Percy's notorious temper. "But Hermione's an adult. She has thick skin, for the most part." He gave him a moment to think about this, then plowed onwards, taking a shot in the dark. "Unless she's romantically involved."

Percy's head shot up, his eyes wide as he stared at his older brother. Charlie chuckled to himself, and cuffed him around the head with the flat of his palm.

"Do you really think I'm that dumb?" Charlie helped Percy find his glasses that he had accidentally knocked off in the blow, returning them to his face. He had to remember that he was much stronger than baby dragons. "You two have been making moon-eyes at each other for weeks now. She looks for you everywhere she goes- she's asked about you to me alone twice now. And you look like a lost puppy when you realize she's not there."

"I have no idea why anyone would think that." Percy was blushing furiously, and muttering words to himself in a string. Charlie rolled his eyes- sometimes he was pretty sure that Percy didn't realize that he did that out loud.

"Knock it off." Percy stopped and glared up at him. The older boy chuckled. "Don't give me that. If you like the girl, tell her. If you want to see her, go find her. It's not like we've got much space to wander around right now." Percy seemed to consider this a moment, then bit his lip.

"What if she doesn't want to see me?" Charlie took a bite out of his biscuit, and thought about it for a moment.

"If she doesn't, then she'll tell you. And then you can stop wondering. But she does, and she's probably more hurt that she hasn't seen hide or hair of you."

Percy sat and contemplated this is silence, finished his biscuit, then shoved his hands back in his pockets and trudged away, muttering again. Charlie finished his biscuit, and pulled another one out, crumbling it, and throwing it all over the meadow for the unicorns later, as a gift.

Norwegian Ridgebacks rarely mated. It'd be interesting to be able to watch a courtship in process.


	18. Climbing

**Chapter Eighteen: Climbing**

Hermione found her only peace with books. When she was a child, her parents had given her a book of fairy tales- full of short stories about awkward children and princesses coming into their own. She had hated it- the condescending tone was too obvious for her 8 years of age, and had kept the book hidden in her toy chest for years. But when her Hogwarts letter had come, Hermione had learned the most important lesson that governed her life- books and literature held universal truth. McGonagall had been curious as Hermione had silently retrieved the battered old book, then pressed it to her chest like an apology. Her parents had smiled knowingly, and accepted the news with grace, and Hermione had never mistrusted a book to lead her wrong again.

So in this terrible rebuilding process, the best day had come when finally she was able to get back to her precious library. Madame Pince had wept with joy- the only time Hermione had ever seen her smile, and would not return to their room, instead moving her cot into her old office, sometimes sleeping at her desk. Hermione couldn't blame her- the books had been her life, and if something had happened to them, she wasn't sure what Madam Pince would've done.

Now that the house elves had officially kicked her out (a week ago, Hermione had tried to casually hand one of them an old shirt. It didn't go over well) Hermione found a safe, calming job, in helping rebuild her old hiding sport- her very precious library. And it kept the house elves happy that she had found something else to do beside pretend she was very sure that was a dishcloth.

The work wasn't easy, as Irma spent most of her days acting much more like a curator, repairing books that were older than Dumbledor had been, or respelling the Restricted Section. Hermione was tasked to physically retriving books, and rechecking the catalogues to make sure she wasn't missing any. The missing ones got pulled aside to be found and mourned over on a different day, the damaged ones set aside for Irma (the nervous, angry woman had softened enough to permit Hermione to call her that). The rest were put back on their shelves once uncovered from the rubble- either by hand, or by magic, whatever was necessary.

It was exhausting work, but exhausting in the most wonderful way- half the time Hermione fell asleep on the toppled pillars and awoke with the pages of a novel she had swore she would 'just glance at' stuck to her cheek. It was the most natural thing in the world to her- falling asleep on books had been her life for 6 years, and felt more normal than anything else in her life.

Harry and Ginny stopped by when they could manage- Ginny watching Harry like a tiger with its prey, and it made Hermione nervous. Someday soon, she'd track her redheaded friend down and have a serious talk about this clinginess, but she was far too tired. Ginny only once tried to bring up Ron, and was met with heavy sighs and rolled eyes before she dropped it.

George stopped by once, but after only 10 minutes, was chased away by Irma, who swore she would hex him blind if he ever set foot there again. She had then stormed away in a huff, mumbling about toads. Hermione didn't want to know. Fleur came to visit once, starting to show ever so slightly, but had to run because she was 'not 'eeling 'ery 'ell', and once Charlie came, watching her with wide eyes as she climbed the ladders to replace books, and asking her about dragons, of all things. When Hermione had told him that she hadn't started on the magical creatures section yet, he looked wounded, and asked her to consider that as her next project.

On a dull, grey morning in the first week of November, Hermione awoke to the familiar numbing sensation that meant she had fallen asleep again in an awkward position. She sighed, and stretched out her limbs from her place on the ground, groaning as her bones cracked and her muscles screamed. Today would not be fun going up and down ladders. She collected the book she had fallen asleep on, and begrudgingly made her way up the ladder to the second highest shelf to return the lecture notes from a series about Saudi Arabia and their dragon population, when he cleared his throat.

"George, you should leave before she gets mad again." She rolled her eyes and straightened out another kink in her spine before continuing to climb.

"Madame Pince and I have a spotless record." She froze, the hair on the back of her neck standing up straight. "I was also an excellent student in my tenure here, Hermione. She'll trust me not harm the books."

Hermione huffed quietly to herself and continued up the ladder, remaining mute. Percy sighed.

"I came here to talk to you." She gnawed on her lower lip, staring directly in front of her. "I would enjoy it if you would talk back."

Hermione shrugged half heartedly, and made her way up two more steps before being able to reach the shelf she was looking for. Percy was rustling beneath her, but she didn't want to look down at him, partially for the fear of heights, partially for him.

"Come down here, Hermione." If she kept gnawing at her lower lip, she would break skin soon, and it would bleed. "Hermione." She didn't like the way he was saying her name- too desperate, too pleading. "Hermione come down here, or I'm coming up there."

"You wouldn't dare." She couldn't stop herself from saying it, or turning around to let the biting words escape her mouth and hit him full force. But instead of sending him away, like she had expected, something burned in his face, and in a matter of seconds, he was bounding up the ladder. His long limbs cat-like, it only took him a matter of seconds to reach the rung right below hers, and she found herself face to face with him. Normally, she would only be to about his chest, but here she technically had the upper hand. Or at least, that's what she could convince herself when he was so worrisomely close to her.

"So you can speak." His face was wet from morning dew and sweat- he had just run here from someplace. Hermione killed the urge to smooth his hair back from his face.

"So can you. Shocking." Her words hurt him, and she knew it, but she didn't care. These past months had been surprisingly hard. Except he still wasn't running from her anger.

"I'm sorry. But I had to see you." She rolled her eyes, and tried to look anywhere but at him.

"You've had weeks to do that, Percy." She shifted uncomfortably as much as the ladder would allow her- he had her trapped, again. "You had weeks before that day, you've had weeks after."

"You didn't talk to me either, Hermione." He pointed out, ever astute. She cringed internally.

"Yes, but…"

"But nothing, 'mione. You had the chance to talk to me just as much as I had to talk to you."

"Where have you been?" She changed the subject quickly, trying not to swallow too hard. "You're covered in mud."

"That's not the point."

"It's the point now-" She snarled at him

"Out with Charlie!" He shouted, throwing his head back exasperatedly, gesturing with one hand, so as to not fall off the ladder. "He dragged me around the god-forsaken forest, and then I left to come see you and I couldn't find my way back so I-"

"Why did he take you to the forest?"

"-so we could talk. So I got lost in the forest and then I found Hagrid's-"

"Talk about what?" She caught his eye finally, and he quit ranting, sighing heavily, and knocking his forehead against hers, his eyes closing.

"You." The word had warmth, but it made Hermione shiver all the same. Percy was so close to her face, and it was starting to feel so familiar. "We didn't actually, talk, really. Charlie never talks. But we talked." He exhaled, his breath dusting across Hermione's cheeks, as their noses butted against each other. "About what an idiot I am."

"You are an idiot." Hermione agreed, and he chuckled as she closed her eyes.

"I am. And you are an idiot who won't come down off the ladder." Hermione's nose scrunched in distaste, and she could feel him smile. "But now I'm on the ladder too."

"Yes, you are."

"So we're both idiots on a ladder." He laughed outright, and she couldn't help but beam at him. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." He pulled his face away from hers to examine her more closely, and she opened her eyes. "But I didn't think you wanted to see me."

"I didn't know if you-" He stopped himself, paused, then started again. "I didn't know what to say, Hermione."

"Do you know now?" She gnawed her lip again.

He didn't answer, instead, he butted his forehead against hers lightly, and breathed, eyes closed. Two of the brightest people in the world, who had absolutely nothing to say.

And they stayed on the ladder together.


	19. Slaughterhouse Five

Chapter 19: Slaughterhouse Five

**You are all so incredibly patient. I do update this, I promise. It just takes me a while. Again, I'm not JKR. I'm a broke broke broke college girl. Wheeee. We are on track to some nonsense, though. We just need some fixing first.**

They started slowly, retelling things, and getting to know each other again. Percy let everyone know he would be helping in the library, and the staff and students readily agreed that it would be the best place for him. They studiously worked in silence most days, and when night finally fell, Percy made sure to get her into her own bed before collapsing into his own, and into dreamless sleeps. She met him every morning at the door to his room, where they spoke little of the day's upcoming projects, grabbed a quick breakfast from the house elves, and trotted up to work. It was quiet work, and some days incredibly dull, but Hermione's presence calmed his nerves, and their silence was accepted as comforting.

Eventually, they moved into short words, perusing the books as they replaced them, and quoting words they found intriguing or interesting, promises that they would find whatever book they had just laid down later (which were always abandoned with good intentions), and whining complaints occasionally about the conditions. Rarely, they wondered what Irma was doing, and dared to voice it aloud, should she hear them. Hermione fell asleep on a book one evening, and Percy dared to carry her back to her bed. But he wouldn't chance to inhale his entire way back, and cast three cleansing charms before he went to bed. He still dreamed of honey.

And finally, after what seemed like months, but was truly only 2 weeks, she spoke.

Well, she didn't, a voice rationalized in his head.

But Shakespeare did. She had stumbled on a collection of muggle books, and clutched one close to her heart, greedily turning over it's pages with the awe and wonder of a child, then quickly thrusting it aside to dig through the pile, unearthing one in particular with a cry of glee.

Tears. Cries. Snuffles. Moans.

She tore the book open, tears falling down her cheeks as she read through the lines, speaking aloud crisply in a tone and cadence Percy didn't understand.

"He that commends me to mine own content- commends me to the thing I cannot get. I to the world am like a drop of water- That in the ocean seeks another drop, Who, falling there to find his fellow forth, Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself: So I, to find a mother and a brother, In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself." She dabbed away tears, and blew dust off the precious book as Percy quirked his head inquisitively at her.

"What's that?" She beamed at him, one of the first real smiles he had seen in weeks.

"Shakespeare. He was a muggle poet and playwright. He wrote all of my favorite things before I came to school." She held up the book for him to look at, and pointed to the dog-eared page. "It was the first book I looked for when I got done with Hogwarts: A History. I don't think it got checked out by anyone else while I went to school here."

"Why not?" He took the book from her, and perused its pages. All the writing was in tiny paragraphs.

"It's not a favorite, I don't think." Hermione stuck her tongue out disdainfully. "When people study the Muggle literature in class, they want romantic tales, or silly nonsense that they can laugh at for Muggle stupidity." She took it back from him with tender fingers, and held it against her chest again. "Stories like Pride and Prejudice, or Wuthering Heights, or Slaughterhouse Five."

"But I've heard of Shakespeare before." Percy returned to his ladder, taking three books with him to a middle shelf, and sliding them between their fellows.

"Yes, probably in the context of Romeo and Juliet. Or a Midsummer Night's Dream." Hermione was still flat on the floor, crossing her legs over each other. "They're the books commonly used to talk about a Muggle's perception of magic and love."

"Incorrectly, I assume." She glanced up at him, and he smiled. "Your tone suggests it."

"Well yes- these were notions in a time long past. Modern day Muggles don't see life this way. These books are taught as stories, even though they're technically plays."

"To whom? The language is so difficult." Hermione shrugged as she set the book aside as Percy glanced at the cover- The Comedy of Errors.

"High school students, and University levels. Depends on who teaches it. Some of us are exposed to it earlier than that." She picked up another few books from the pile and gingerly dusted them off, coming to her feet. "I was taught earlier than most, but I liked books a lot earlier than most too."

"You like books might be the understatement of the century." Percy bit out, then regretted immediately. Was that ok? She giggled as she climbed her own ladder, placing books back on the shelves. "Sorry."

"Don't be. It's true." Her shoulders came up in a half shrug as she descended. "Most things from the Muggle world are things that I miss." The silence that descended on them was comfortable, and Percy smiled as he shelved books- it was nice to hear her talking again, even if it was sporadic.

After Shakespeare spoke, Voltaire did, about bitterness by a man named Candide, which in Percy's personal opinion sounded like a woman's name. Hermione had turned the book over almost tearfully to Fleur, who had thanked her soundly, and sat with them for the day, reading it steadily in French. It snowed steadily, and Percy caught Madam Pince even being lulled in to the vacuum of sweet French tones and silence that always accompanied heavy snow.

November trudged on steadily, and Orwell spoke, which made Percy crawl out of his own skin, and a hopeless man named Salinger with a hat. They delved into American history briefly to speak about a girl named Scarlett O'Hara, and Hermione had to explain the intricacies of slavery in the United States and the Civil War. This led to discussions about Muggle life in other countries, warfare, and then oddly, accents.

At night, they stayed up after dinner arguing passionately in armchairs they had unearthed next to a large window, able to look out on the steadily falling snow. And they would fall asleep as they spoke, unable to keep words back- except the ones that mattered the most to Percy.

He had considered it, agonized over it, really, and had come to the conclusion not to push her. She was truly her brother's girlfriend still, no matter what she said, and had to remind himself of this when she would swat at his arm to make a point, and he was tempted to grab her fingers and hold them to keep himself warm. He had to remind himself of this every time she got lost in a book for an hour and he wanted to bring her back to him with kisses and promises of later.

But instead, he would let himself fall asleep in an armchair every night, perpetually terrified that if he left his post at her side, she would fall into the same silence he had.


	20. Dreadful or Deadful

Chapter Twenty: Dreadful or Deadful

**Your patience and reviews gives me conviction and strength. The more I get, the more I want to write. Mwah. I love you all. A little bit of silly with a little bit of almost there.**

Things were somehow different, now.

Sure, Hermione rationalized, things were supposed to be different, and life would be ever-changing now that the war was over. Someday the school would be rebuilt, but they would never teach the same things again. Someday, she would find her parents, but they would never forgive her for what they would see as a 'foolish sacrifice'. Someday, Ron would come home, but they could never be together again.

But for now, Percy was the only thing that was different and she couldn't put her finger on why.

When they talked for hours, it always seemed like he had something biting at the tip of his tongue that he was refusing to say. They would stay up through the dark of the nights, only lit by candles and the occasional wand as they found a passage in a book together, and he would try to turn a page, but it was like the pages stuck to his fingers, too heavy for him to turn alone. And when he laughed, there was a sadness that accompanied it, no matter how she tried.

This all confused her, to no end, and left her baffled through half the night as she slept, waking in the morning to find no new answer had suddenly come to her. She tried every joke or prank she had ever learned from the twins, hiding things between shelves while he wasn't looking, putting things in his food at breakfast, but it was never the same. She tried leaving the silence hanging between them, to encourage him to find the time to say what he needed to say, but he let it hang there, uncomfortable and pregnant. And when the pages of his book seemed to stick for too long, she would help him turn them, trying not be offended that Percy refused to breathe when she got too close.

Nothing helped. It slowly started to put her in a state of constant irritation, snapping at Irma without warning, once accidentally sending Fleur into a fit of tears that took hours to smooth over, and once at Ginny, precious Ginny, who had the good sense to know her best friend well enough to laugh it off, and then squeeze her hand. She felt awful, and she slept fitfully, scared and terrified that she was going to lose everyone the exact same way she had her first year.

At breakfast one morning, she had accidentally made a particularly morbid comment about Fred not being around to cheer her up, which made the rest of the Weasleys eye each other nervously, gather their food, and head off to work in their separate directions. Hermione laid her head down on the table, and bit back tears. She hadn't even meant it.

"What is going on?" She looked up to find, of all of them, George sitting there patiently, gnawing on a particularly rubbery slice of bacon. She threaded her fingers through her hair, playing with it nervously.

"What do you mean?" George rolled his eyes as she bit her lip.

"All I know is you're acting weird." He pointed a finger at her accusatorially. "Percy's acting weird, Charlie's acting weirder than normal, and Bill's allowed to be weird because soon he's going to have a little monster to take care of." He shrugged as she picked at her eggs nervously. "Ron's gone and as you've so tactfully pointed out, Fred's dead, so that leaves me to be the sane one."

"You've forgotten Ginny." Hermione observed as he gave her a half smile.

"Ginny's a female, she was never sane to begin with." Hermione opened her mouth to argue and he cut her off. "Don't you even start, it was a joke, and you used to have a sense of humor. What. Is. Going. On."

Hermione picked at her food some more, mulling her options over. She had once tried to deny a Weasley Twin information, and it had caused her hell for moths. George had teased her mercilessly until she had given in that she was infatuated with Fred, who had rewarded her for the information with a Yule Ball kiss. If she told George, he might choose to do something with it. If she didn't, he probably would just harass her until she did.

"Something's wrong with Percy, I don't see you annoying him about it." She popped a bit of scrambled egg in her mouth and chewed it carefully, George's eyes going wide.

"That's what this is about?"

"I didn't say that-"

"This whole thing is because Percy's in a snit?!" He laughed as she averted her eyes, trying desperately not to pout like a child.

"He is not in a snit, and I didn't say that." She picked up her plate and walked towards the cleaning bins, scraping the remaining food into the waste bin and placing her plate in a plastic container, thanking the house elf who stood there collecting. George was behind her in seconds as she walked out the doors, taking a sharp left down a broken looking corridor.

"Have you talked to him about why?" She sighed as George caught up to her, threading her arm between his jovially. She shook her head. "Do you ever talk to anyone about anything?"

"Usually I'd talk to Harry or Ginny." His mouth twisted into a sympathetic grim smile as she sighed. "But they're pretty much useless now. They're in their own world more than half the time."

"Something happened while they were in America picking up the pig, they just won't say what." Her lips pressed into a grim line. At some point, she'd have to be a good friend to Ginny and beat it out of the girl. "But that's not the point- the point is-"

"The point is nothing, George. There's nothing to do. Percy's mad at me or something, and there's nothing to do about it." They rounded another corner, and she lowered her voice. "And if you call him a pig one more time, I'll hex you into one."

"Fair enough, the boy's been plenty useful." He shrugged genially at her as she resumed fretting her lip between her teeth. "Do you not realize that talking to people is usually the easiest way to solve problems?" With no response, he plowed on. "Aren't you the smartest witch of our age?"

"Stop that, I hate that." She muttered offhandedly as they arrived at the library. George stopped her and turned to face her head on, peering into her face.

"You're a Gryffindor, Granger. Have some pride. Be brave. All that nonsense." He braced his hands on her shoulders and shook her gently.

"Isn't house pride part of what got everyone into this whole war mess to begin with?" He waved a hand in her face dismissively.

"Don't get philosophical on me. Just do what your gut tells you." Hermione sighed heavily as he grinned at her, and pulled her into a tight hug. She buried her face against his chest and clung for dear life, drowning in a very familiar Weasley scent. He pressed his lips against her forehead, a warm happiness she associated with badly knit sweaters spreading through her, and she smiled. "Cheer up, 'Mione. At least I love you." He adopted a fake air of dignity, fluttering his eyelashes and pressing a hand against his forehead. "I know I'll never be as good as my dearly-departed brother-"

"Stop!" She swatted at him as he singsonged at her, burying her face in his broad chest again. "You know I'm sorry about that. I feel dreadful."

"As you should." He harrumphed, then squeezed her. "Dreadful or dead-ful?" She groaned, and laughed for the first time in days. He let her ago with another forehead kiss, then skipped down the hallway away from her, singing about ghosts as he twiddled his fingers at her and blew a kiss. She smiled till he turned the corner, then shook her head, wondering how much emotionally that had cost him. She'd have to do something to thank him soon.

And as she turned towards the library, ready to put her Gryffindor pride to the test, she stumbled into the wide-eyed stare of emerald green eyes, shielded behind glasses, and felt her heart drop into her stomach.

Percy, clutching a book to his chest, looked like the wind was knocked out of him, and extended the book to her with a shaky smile. "I found this for you."

She took it from his fingers delicately, and before she could say anything, she was looking at an empty doorway.

Much Ado About Nothing.

Dear God, was that appropriate now.


	21. Ghosts

Chapter Twenty One: Ghosts

**It's here. It's a start. We'll see.  
YOU are all wonderful by the way. I adore you all.  
You can find me on tumblr at sorryXDbarefeet if you want to be my friend. Reviews are appreciated, and I'm hoping to have the next chapter out in about 2 weeks.  
I just need to find a good soundtrack. Oi. Good writing music is hard to find. Love you all! –TH**

He fumed, silently, while putting books away, slamming them onto shelves with purpose, and ignoring the glares and pointed sighs by Irma from her office.

This was entirely his fault.

Of course, Hermione would be dating George. He had left things far too long, now. He had left things to the last minute, never bothering to ask, never inquiring into that point of her life, and on purpose, as well. Of course she would've picked George, charming, funny, likeable, brilliant, damaged George. He was just her type- athletically inclined, popular, and smart to top it all off, and not in the bossy, annoying way he was. And, a snarky part of his brain reminded him nastily as he slammed **Which Witch: A Guide to Spells in Multiples** onto the shelves, she had already shown a clear preference in Fred all those years ago. George was probably even better, and a catch to boot.

This one hurt, and he clenched his stomach reflexively, trying desperately not to double over. He shouldn't think things like that, ever, but he couldn't help it. When it came to Hermione his brain was a cloud where normally things were pristinely clear, and witnessing their stolen moment of happiness left him feeling like there was scum under his skin that he couldn't get rid of.

It all made sense now, all the jokes and tricks she had been playing recently just reeked of the twins, sometimes literally. He had thought it might be a misguided attempt for her to cheer him up, but now it was clear- she had done it because of her brother's influence on her. He supposed it was better than her running back to Ron, but not by much. _No, not even by a little bit_, he realized, as he threw himself into his favorite armchair.

He tried to refocus, tried to think about his different words, tried to pinpoint in one specific word, but nothing came. All he could picture was Hermione warmly encircled in George's arms as he pressed his lips against her forehead, and the beaming smile she threw at him as a reward.

It made him want to be physically ill, which made him feel even more ridiculous. Hermione being happy should make him happy, but instead, it made him want to sink into the chair and forget everything that had happened since he came to this destitute little camp. He wanted to go home to his pristine, picture-less flat in London and feel as empty as he had for the past two years working for the ministry.

"Thank you." Her soft voice startled him out of his misery, and he gripped his lip between his teeth, taking off his glasses to polish them on his shirt. "I love this one."

"I thought you might." He cleared his throat and heaved himself out of the chair, scurrying to pick up a stack of books and make himself useful. She was standing between two shelves, the book held pressed against her chest, and Percy's breath caught for a second as he placed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. She was framed in the light from the windows, a grey haze backlighting her soft features, skimming over her thighs and curves like velvet. He sucked in a breath and charged past her. Of course, George would've figured this out long before he did. "I'm sorry I interrupted you two."

"You weren't interrupting." Her voice was soft. This is the part where she explained herself, and let him down gently. Caught red-handed, she wouldn't have a choice. "There wasn't anything to interrupt."

"Don't worry about me." He shook his head fervently as he whipped out his wand and levitated a book to a top shelf, avoiding her eyes as she followed him between shelves. He couldn't look at her right now, his pride hurt. "I won't tell anyone."

"Tell anyone what?" He sighed minutely, dodging around another stack of shelves to find an acceptable place for another novel. He could hear the tense edge in her tone, and kicked himself internally. He should've just let her say what she wanted to say, now she had to lie about it.

"About you and George." He shrugged casually, slipping another book on its designated shelf, and hurrying to find another stack. He only turned when it sounded like Hermione was choking, concerned. "Really Hermione-"

"George and I?" She sputtered out, her face rapidly turning red, cheeks tinged with magenta. "George and I WHAT-"

"That you're seeing each other," He started, trying not to look at her directly in the face. She gasped out a laugh, and his brow furrowed.

"You think we're seeing-" he cut her off, glaring at her.

"Look, I already know you are, I saw you." She outright laughed at him, a little shrill and out of control, losing some of her composure.

"Saw me what, HUG a FRIEND?" She was outright screaming at him now, furious enough to start pulling at her hair with her fingers, shaking with the effort to calm herself. He picked up a stack of books and charged around another book shelf, desperate to shield himself from her rage.

"I saw him kiss you." He mumbled, more to himself that to her. She had followed him, her knuckles now white as she gripped the book in her fingers. "I already promised not to tell anyone what more do you-"

"He didn't kiss me!" She gasped out, looking like she was having difficulty breathing. "That wasn't a kiss-"

"I don't really care what it is, you can kiss whoever you like." His fingers were trembling as he jammed two books onto a shelf that it clearly didn't belong to.

"I haven't kissed anybody but you." She was suddenly deathly quiet, and Percy's heart stopped in his chest.

The silence was deafeningly loud, roaring in his ears. They had so carefully darted around this issue, side-stepped this boundary for so long that talking about it felt taboo. But he saw it, in her face, the color quickly draining, that she had meant it.

He took two quick steps towards her, his heart going from perfectly still to ramming against his ribs, slamming against his chest in a pattern that had no rhythm, as his fingers traced her cheekbone, her lashes fluttering as she blinked rapidly. Lately he had been so absolutely piss poor at reading Hermione. This time, he absolutely had to get it right. He swallowed, hard.

"No one." He had meant to ask it, but it came out in a whisper, barely asked, briefly spoken. He was surprised he had even said it, but the silence was too loud, and his voice cracked girlishly around the words. Cursing his apparent relapse into boyhood, he cleared his throat and tried again. "No one?" It came out softer, huskier than he had thought it might, but it didn't matter. He couldn't trust himself to think properly. She shook her head briskly, and he let the palm of his calloused hand slip against her face, holding her steady so she couldn't leave him. He had to get this right- his heart wouldn't stop breaking his ribs into pieces, and he had to know, had to know, had to know, had to know.

"No one but you." She repeated, blinking more, and he watched the careful delicate patter of her lashes shade and color her eyes.

He slid against her in a meld of flesh and warmth, his enthusiasm knocking her against the shelf, their books finally falling out of their hands as his lips found hers, the force bruising and messy. He would feel these kisses in his bones until he died, he thought vaguely, as her tongue slipped in his mouth, twirling against his with desperate intensity, and then he lost the ability to think as her fingers entwined with his loose hand at her side.

"Tell me." He broke away from her, bringing their fingers up to his face so he could kiss each one of them individually, never letting her eyes leave his view. All her Gryffindor heat was there, boiling under the surface, her lips swollen- from him- he thought gleefully.

"I don't want anyone else." She swallowed thickly, and he dug his nails into her fingers, inhaling sharply as he heard it. She shook her head again, and Percy tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out, which he took as his signal to capture those precious lips in his again, carefully cradling the back of her head in his hand so as not to slam it against the books in his excitement. She pulled away from him, grabbing the front of his shirt and panting for breath. "You say it."

"Say what." He muttered thickly, placing heavy kisses along her neck and collarbone, and she arched up into him, their hips meeting and grazing against each other.

"Do you want anyone else?" She actually asked, and he noticed the quavering note in her voice. How could she think that? How could she possibly ever?

"No." She sighed and caught his lips again before he could rattle off a speech he was trying to prepare in his mind, but vaguely forgot.

Her tongue slipped between his lips as he pulled her against him again, and fell into a drowning fire of heat and sun and unbearable lightness. Percy had kissed his fair share of women, but never one like Hermione. She moaned lightly into his mouth, and he realized his hands had wound their way the small of her back, pressing her against his hips unconsciously, where he had started to shift uncomfortably.

She gasped into him in a dizzying swirl as he tilted Hermione's head slightly so he could lay kisses against the sweet landscape that was her neck and collarbones, tasting honey and salt. Her fingers scrambled desperately against the planes of his stomach and he bit back a smile as she hit a rather tender spot. She giggled breathlessly against his mouth as she felt his muscles contract. He repaid her the favor by letting his fingers trace against her spine, rewarding his careful delicacy with a gasp that just barely left her lips and inspired him to let one hand leave her tender flesh to cradle her cheek.

He could feel her start to tremble against him slightly and was suddenly brought back to reality of where they were, letting his lips still to tender softness as he placed kisses on her cheek, then painfully slowly on her forehead, claiming the spot as his own with a brash impulse of pride. She laughed breathlessly against him as he held her to him.

"Perhaps we should do this someplace we're less likely to be walked in on." He cleared his throat, and she nodded soberly. He peered at her face, before ghosting a kiss on the bridge of her nose, and pulling her away with him, his arm around her waist as she leaned her head on his shoulder. He could read the expression on her face, and whispered in her ear as they left. "We won't tell anyone till this is… sorted."

The relief on Hermione's face only hurt a little until she pushed herself up on her toes and he felt her warmth against his lips like silk. That took the sting out of it.

"I just don't want Ron to find out without being able to… you know." She whispered against his lips. He nodded, and stole a kiss as they left the library to wander the snowy grounds.

And if Fred Weasley had been alive, he would've high fived his twin, who was watching with a smile from the corner. Instead, Charlie ruffled his hair, slung an arm around his shoulder, and led his brother away as they muttered conspiratorially to themselves.


End file.
